


stockholm

by PinkyDie



Series: CODEPENDENCY [1]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Autistic Morty Smith, Cutting, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dom/sub Undertones, Eating Disorders, Fluff? What fluff?, Heavy Angst, Heavy Suicidal Elements, Implied Autistic Rick Sanchez, Implied/Referenced Panic Attacks, Incest, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Peer Pressure, Rick doesn't do feelings, Rick's more than an asshole, Sad Rick Sanchez, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Stockholm Syndrome elements, Suicide Attempt, and im taking out all my shit on this fic, anyway, bc i dont, changes POV, he thinks with his dick too much for the smartest man in the multiverse, i'm not nearly smart enough to write this well, inconsistent updates, just between rick and morty, please don't read this if you have a good heart, this is called codependency for a reason yall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2020-10-26 12:07:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20741945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkyDie/pseuds/PinkyDie
Summary: morty smith can only watch as the demons eat away at his grandfather, pissed and helpless.





	1. safety is like a holding a match to a sea of darkness

**Author's Note:**

> this is gonna be a hoot and a holler yall  
buckle up  
bc we're startin with a bang

_There's something about feeling nothing_

_that just drives a person crazy_

_ -why should i care at all?_

Morty always thought it was idolization.

The feeling that would bubble in his gut had nothing to do with attraction or arousal. 

That was until he found his way onto a video on pornhub that he was, _ at first _, grossed out by, cursor hovering over the back button. After a few moments of pondering, he didn’t click and swiped his cursor off screen, eyes wide and unblinking as he watched it. His head was clouded with shame. 

He figured it was something so much more and so much worse when he jacked off to fucking grandpa porn and had the most mind-blowing orgasm since he was fifteen. 

Morty thinks he must be really stupid not to have noticed his sick perversion earlier. The tightening in his gut whenever Rick man-spreaded on the couch as they watched interdimensional cable, the way Morty’s throat would constrict and how his eyes would glaze over, just watching as Rick took down an army of livid alien’s like he was smashing a swarm of ants beneath his heel.

Yeah, he must be really fucking stupid. 

“MorRAUty,” Rick belched from where he was hunched over his work bench. For the first time in a long while, Rick was working meticulously, relentlessly. If Morty was keeping track (he was) Rick hasn’t seen the sun in days. 

Obediently, Morty leaped down from his stool and walked over to his grandpa. “Yeah, Rick?”

He let out another burp. Without even looking at Morty, Rick said, “Go get grandpa anOUAGther beer.” 

The excitement of thinking he was actually going to do something worthwhile wilted and died inside of Morty. Sending a tired glare at Rick who didn’t even see it, Morty twirled around on his heel and walked almost numbly towards the kitchen. 

That’s the thing about this whole ordeal that Morty should have also known- being treated like shit by Rick, like Morty isn’t anything special, shouldn’t hurt this fucking badly. He should be used to it, should just write it off as his grandpa being an asshole as per usual like everyone else does. Summer doesn’t cry herself to sleep when grandpa calls her a bitch, she laughs and says “oh, that’s just Grandpa Rick_ , _Morty.” 

Morty could never do that. 

He lives in the small details. He dwells on the sneers and he never lets go of the hair ruffles when he does something well. He lets the names and the insults bounce around in his head and he’ll never stop the warm from blooming in his heart whenever Rick spends time with him _ willingly _. 

Sighing, Morty grabbed at the cold can and made his way back to Rick. He slammed the beer on the table and sat back on the stool, almost intentionally looking pissed off. “Someone woh- has a stick shoved up their ass,” Rick grumbled. 

Morty crossed his arms. “Do-do you need me anym-more, Rick?” 

Rick let out a loud laugh and Morty tried like hell not to dwell on it, he really did but the sting in his eyes was hard to ignore. “ReaAAlly, Morty? Do you have friends to meet up with?” 

Morty could only stare at the hunched back of his grandfather, hoping the tears don’t spill over. “Fuh-fuck you, Rick,” Morty said lamely as he hopped down from the stool. 

He was just closing the garage door behind him when he heard Rick chuckle again. “You wish.”

The comment had him stopping dead in his tracks. Rick can’t have an idea, there isn’t a single possibility. Morty wasn’t obvious, was he? Unless Rick hacked his laptop or something, but why would he do that?

The thought of Rick watching Morty masturbating to fucking grandpa porn and figuring out his grandson’s sick attraction to him was mortifying within itself so he closed the door and pratically ran up to his room. 

He flung himself onto his bed, springs squealing beneath his weight. Morty stared at the stucco of his ceiling, arms spread out and chest heaving, thinking about how fucked he is. 

Looking at his phone, it was only ten o’clock. On most nights, Rick would drunkenly stumble into his room and they go to some alien planet or to fuck over some government.

It’s a comforting thought as his first day of senior year is tomorrow. Falling asleep in math class on the first day isn’t exactly ideal. 

Morty passed out with his shoes still on and laced. 

  
  


Rick was frustrated. 

No, Rick was fucking pissed. 

He couldn’t tell Morty what he was working on, not because he didn’t think the little twerp couldn’t help or because he just felt like being a dick, it’s more so the reason that Rick’s fucking _ embarrassed _. 

With a frustrated scream, Rick chucked the totaled portal gun at the wall of the garage.

He can’t figure it out. 

Rick _ always _figures it out. He’s the smartest man in the fucking multiverse, has he gotten so old he can’t fix his own invention?

Chugging the last of his beer, Rick looked at the parked ship and thought he needed to get out. 

“Is it incest if I’m not technically related to them?” Rick mused to himself as he swerved through the cosmos. He pounded another shot from some bottle of alcohol he stole from the liquor store. Deciding it’s too much of an effort to figure out, Rick punched in the coordinates of The Citadel without hesitation. 

At first it was such a mindfuck, seeing all the other Ricks and all the other Mortys walking around, but now, he doesn't bat an eyelash. Just keeps walking and taking swigs from the bottle. 

When it was empty, he’d just go into a liquor store, as there was one on every street, and buy another, glaring at the small Morty just because he can. 

He didn't retire from the bottle until the clean streets of The Citadel took a turn. The smooth asphalt changed into pot-hole infested roads and sidewalks with grass and weeds growing in the cracks.

Rick tried not to pay attention to all the Rickless Mortys’ huddled in the alleyways and staring at him with big eyes through their windows. He just buried his hands into the pocket of his jeans and pushed forward. The alcohol helped, but looking at the sad fucks always had this weird power over him. 

He doesn’t get why.

He doesn’t really want to know so he just keeps walking until he sees the lights, the lights that always gave him a sense of relief and the feeling he was going to puke at the same time. 

Rick pushed the vision of brown curls and crooked smiles out of his head because here, in that club, the Mortys never smile unless they're paid to.

Morty woke up to his bedroom door creaking open and slamming shut. Just as his half-asleep mind dismissed it and began to doze off again, there was a loud thump, almost like something heavy fell. 

Morty’s eyes snapped open to the darkness of his bedroom. 

The first thing he noticed was the smell, a mixture of piss and the smell of almost pure alcohol. 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Morty threw the blankets off of his body and flicked on his bedside lamp. The moment the light spread throughout his room, unveiling the monster lying on his floor, Morty felt his eyes sting and his chest tighten. “Jeez-us Rick,” Morty whispered more so to himself as his grandfather probably couldn’t even comprehend anything he was saying. “Are you- are you okay?”

Out of everything Morty has seen, even the own corpses of his and his grandfather, this takes the fucking cake. 

The longer he stares at his grandfather’s perfectly still body, the quick his heart rate becomes. It was beating so fast in his chest that it’s starting to make him sick, flooding his veins with adrenaline and panic. “Rick, plea- just say something.”

His eyes were all white and rolled into the back of his head. Rick’s hands were twitching from where they laid like deadweight on floor. Morty pushed himself onto his shaky legs, almost falling with each step towards his grandpa as his knees were shaking so bad. “Rick-” 

Morty was about to try and shake the man back to conscious, his hands gripping his frail shoulders, but suddenly a sound rang out from Rick’s throat, a sick gurgling sound. Rick’s mouth dropped open and bright green vomit spilled from between his thin, gray lips like a cascading torrent. Morty stumbled back until the back of his knees hit the frame of his twin bed. The substance was soaking into Rick’s shirt, surrounding the old man where he was slouched against the door in a puddle. It smelled putrid, to the point it was burning Morty’s nose, almost bringing him to puke himself. 

He was shocked still, only able to watch with an agape mouth as Rick puked all over himself, his body trembling. Morty couldn’t even think. 

He didn’t snap out of his stupor until a loud, terrifying sound emerged from Rick’s throat. His legs started to spasm, kicking against the stained carpet of Morty’s bedroom, sloshing around in the puddle of stomach acid. Rick’s chest started to convulse and before Morty could comprehend what was happening, the old man was choking, head thrashing back and forth. 

His hands were balled into fists so tightly that his nails broke the skin, blood leaking out from between his knuckles. 

And Morty, through his tears, ran towards his grandfather. He slid Rick away from where was plastered against the bedroom door. He slipped his skinny arms under Rick’s armpit and drug his grandfather down the hallway, leaving behind a trail of bright green sick.

With each sick gurgle that left Rick’s mouth, Morty cried harder. His chest was hiccuping, tears welling in his eyes to the point that Morty was practically blind. He tried to be as gentle with Rick in his arms, but he was panicking. He could only think about getting Rick to the ship and to the galactic hospital, nothing else. 

Getting his unconcious grandfather into the ship was easier than Morty thought. He never thought that Rick was this light. He always knew the older man was thin, but so thin Morty could lift him and gently place him the passenger seat?

Shaking his grandfather’s sickly weight from his mind, Morty hopped into the ship. He didn’t even wait for the garage door to open fully, he crashed through the slow opening door and sped up into the sky.

Morty could only stare at Rick lying in his hospital bed, stare at his relaxed eyebrows, listen to the light snores that resonated from his chest. 

Morty was still crying and still shaking. 

Even when the doctor came into the room, looking tired as it had to be nearing the early hours of the morning, Morty couldn’t avert his eyes from the body lying in front of him. “Are you related? I think I remember you saying he’s your grandfather?” 

The memory of only a few hours before, of Morty holding a dying Rick in his arms, screaming deliriously, “_ Someone please, my grandpa I- I think he’s die-dying! Please _!”

Morty nodded jerkily. “Yeah,” he grunted through his sore throat. “He is.” The doctor hummed and scribbled something down by the sound of it. “Will he be oh-okay?” 

“He will be. Your grandpa must be a real fighter, Morty.” Morty doesn’t know how he knows his name. They probably just know him and Rick by now, they’re here way too often. 

In response, Morty just nodded, trying to choke down the sob building in his throat because Rick will be okay, he _ is _okay. 

“Morty,” the doctor began, his voice thick, “can I ask you a question?” Morty, again, nodded. “Is your grandpa suicidal?” 

The question is one Morty should have expected, but albeit, Morty was shocked to the point he shot back in his chair, eyes wide as he stared at Rick sleeping peacefully. “I- why?” 

The doctor cleared his throat. The tension in the air was so palpable that Morty was choking on it. Morty shouldn’t be surprised, shouldn’t act like the thought of Rick wanting to kill himself hasn’t once crossed his mind because he always had an inkling of Rick’s incurable, ruthless sadness that’s more like a plague. He’s just been ignoring the feeling, acting like he doesn’t care. Monotone, the alien doctor said, “the amount of substances he consumed, half we couldn’t identify and the other half have been banned in the entirety of the multiverse.” This time, Morty couldn’t hold back. He doubled over in the plastic chair, sobs painful as they wracked his chest. The doctor kept talking as if the sound of sobbing was like the sound of the TV in the background, “and of each of those substances were more than enough to overdose. If you hadn’t taken him here he’d be dead. The only reason he’s not comatose is that he’s been far too lucky.” 

Morty casted a look up at Rick feeling nothing but anger. “Selfish fucking bastard,” he grunted, voice perfectly stable. Leave it to Rick to attempt suicide and literally fight his last probable moments of life to die in the darkness of Morty’s bedroom so his grandson can find him dead in a puddle of his own vomit and piss and shit.

The doctor continued, “I suggest suicide watch. I know for a fact that he will find a way if he’s determined enough, but at least the effort is being made.” 

Morty nodded and the doctor left after saying Rick should be awake in a few hours time. When the door slid shut, Morty grabbed at Rick’s large, bony hand. It was still warm. “You’re a goddamn asshole, Rick,” Morty breathed, watching his chest rise beneath the thin blanket. “But you- you’re well aware of that, aren’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please tell me if you liked it and want more, posting this is just kind of me dipping my toes in the water
> 
> -eive


	2. rather be sad than feel nothing at all, than to be nothing at all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isnt my best and i apologize :(

_youre shouting into the void_

_youre tired of being lifeless_

_ \- _ _death is sitting on your mind and youre not special_

Rick woke up to the worst hangover in all of his sixty-something years of existence. 

And that’s a _ lot _hangovers. 

Maybe it’s the pounding in his head or the taste of vomit in his mouth, but he knows it’s the alien emergency room. 

Or maybe it was rolling his heavy head to the side and seeing Morty all scrunched up as he held his legs to his chest, head buried between his knees. Rick watched the gentle lift and fall of the kid’s shoulders. He decided he was asleep and fell back against the thin pillow. 

Interdimensional cable was on quietly, playing on the mounted screen, but Rick’s vision was too blurry to really see what was showing. 

Rick sighed heavily and cracked his neck. 

Why was he even here?

He remembers leaving The Citadel, but the rest is just blank. He must’ve blacked out again. Half of his life as gray nothingness is just life to Rick now, just like how he doesn’t know what Beth looks like as a teenager or how he never held Summer as baby. Absence is a part of Rick and he welcomed it. He lives by it, he made it a part of him.

He looked back Morty. The yellow morning glow of this planet’s sun was casting golden highlights into the brown curls of his grandson’s hair. For the first time since Rick woke up, and even though he can’t really see Morty, he can’t help but notice how _ awful _ the kid looked. Something pinched at Rick’s barely beating heart. 

_ If you’re so absent, why do you remember Morty’s first words? Why did you come back those couple of years ago? _

The heart rate monitor sped up and Rick cursed aloud. 

As if the word was some sort of alarm clock, Rick saw Morty wake with a start. His feet landed on the floor with a slap and his eyes were wild as they stared at Rick. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, life flashing before his eyes. 

Morty probably felt like one too, Rick thought as he took his gaze away from Mory’s shitty and fearful appearance. 

Rick picked up the remote from the bedside table and turned the volume up. “Mor-rning sleeping beauty,” Rick slurred as he watched, _or listened_ _to_, the stupid eye holes commercial for the fiftieth time in his life. 

“Ri-Rick?” Morty called out, voice hoarse from crying. 

Rick cursed again, to himself this time. “Yeah?” The words came out in a grunt.

There were a couple beats of silence. Rick saw the kid rise to his feet but refused to look, but when Morty moved to the foot of his bed, Rick didn’t have much of a choice, so he settled a glare on his grandson. “You’re blocking the Tee-TV, Mor-”

“Shut up.” 

Morty wasn’t yelling or screaming, there was no ounce of power behind his words. He sounded like a mouse telling the human not to kill him, but Rick found himself snapping his jaw shut regardless. 

“What the Fuh-Fuck, Ri-ick?” With each word, Morty’s stutter was growing worse. His legs were shaking and Rick couldn’t take his eyes off of him. The heart rate monitor was beeping like crazy. “Do you ev-even remember? Do you even c-care?” 

Rick just blinked, face blank. He doesn’t really know what to think, what to feel.

Then Morty began to collapse in on himself. The tears started one by one but eventually grew into rivers. Rick just noticed the green stains on his clothes and on his skin. He noticed how bloodshot Morty’s big blue eyes were and the unnaturality of his pale skin. 

_ What the fuck did I do? _

The anger that lived in Morty’s eyes would have made a normal person at least feel something, but Rick remained empty. “I hate you.” 

Rick’s used to those three words that Morty liked to throw around like they were a weapon, but this time, it felt different. Morty’s voice was almost gone, just a tad above a whisper. 

The heart rate monitor calmed down and Rick shook his head. “You wish you did.” 

Morty’s tiny hands balled into fists. He opened his mouth to say something, but the doors slid open and in came the doctor. Rick looked towards him and had to bite himself to keep from laughing. He seemed to have a dick for a nose, what kind of rude asshole would be so rude to _ laugh _? “So, can you breathe thro-ough that thing, Doc?”

The doctor’s eyes settled into a glare. “Mr. Sanchez, this is no time for jokes.” Rick snorted and the doctor continued, “you almost died.” 

Rick didn’t react. He could feel Morty’s eyes drilling into his head trying to look for one, but Rick kept his face looking at the Dick-nosed doctor. "Okay, what’s new?” 

The doctor- Rick looked at the identification card clipped to his front pocket and had to bite _hard_ to keep the laughter in- the doctor named _Flopsnuts _seemed a fraction away from turning around on his one, scrawny leg and _hopping_ out. “Or rather I say you almost killed yourself?”

Rick’s smile fell off his face almost comically. He wanted to say the same thing as that isn't new either. He isn’t surprised in the slightest, it isn't his first fucking rodeo. The only difference is that he's waking up in a hospital rather than the floor of some foreign room or of the garage with a loaded weapon in his hand, safety off, and no enemies in sight. 

Rick no longer had to wonder how he 

wound up here, as if it wasn't obvious in the beginning. His gaze moved onto his still crying and still shaking grandson. 

Now he’s done it. _ Way to go Rick, number one grandpa of the year. Do you want a fucking medal? _

“Is that so, Dr. Flopsnuts?” 

“Mhm, if your grandson hadn’t brought you in you would have drowned in your own vomit. Still going to laugh at my appearance?” 

Rick immediately grimaced and he quickly covered it up with a grunt. His gaze returned to Dr. Flopnuts. “I thought doctors were meh- supposed to be passive?” 

He just continued to send Rick a pointed look. He set down a form on the bedside table. “Get your act together, Mr. Sanchez. Dr. Cuynuz will be with you shortly.”

Dr. Flopnuts left and Rick was left with Morty.

Morty was still crying and he wanted to punch himself in the face, but above all he wanted to punch _ Rick _ in the face. Morty wanted to pound and pound it in until Rick showed something besides disinterest. Morty is so _ sick _ and so fucking _ tired _of that bored, stupid expression staring him down. 

“Wha-what are you waiting for, Morty?” Rick asked, but it wasn’t really a question. “A thank you?” 

Morty’s tear filled eyes settled into a glare. “I’m not stupid, R-Rick.” 

Why would he ever expect one? Rick saying thank you is like Bill Cosby expected not to stare down teen girls. 

It’s pointless. 

It’s all pointless so Morty walked over and fell back into his chair. His legs were spread out in front of him. He could smell the vomit all over him and the smell is making his head swim, so he just closed his eyes and tried to go to sleep. 

It found him almost immediately. 

Morty woke up to the shakiness of the ship. 

He sat up, head wobbling from the sluggishness of sleep. Stars and galaxies were whizzing by like bullets. Morty turned around and saw Rick. The man was stiff as he drove, hands tight around the wheel and his jaw clenched. 

There was a pharmacy bag between the two of them, placed like a wall. 

“R-Rick?” Morty said in a hoarse voice. His cheeks stretched as he talked, dried tears crusted on the baby fat. “How did I get here?”

Rick rolled his shoulders and sent a quick look at the confused Morty. “I carried you.” Rick said it nonchalantly, like it’s an everyday thing, like it doesn’t shatter Morty’s world. 

The thought of being cradled in Rick’s arms as the man carried him through the halls of the hospital to gently set him down in the seat of the ship submerged Morty in heat. Red painted his cheeks and Morty twiddled his thumbs out of embarrassment. “Wuh- why didn’t you j-ust wake me up?” 

Rick shrugged, eyes bearing ahead and jaw still hard. “I didn’t want to listen to you, like I have to now. So just go back to sleeEEUp, Morty.” 

Blinking owlishly, Morty shrugged and turned around onto his side. He watched the stars whiz by in a daze. He’s so tired it’s weighing down his head, but he doesn’t feel like sleeping will fix it. 

He’s not sad and he’s not sleepy.

Morty realized as he watched Blips and Chitz shoot by in a blur of yellow that he isn’t really anything.

  
  
  


_ A little bit before... _

Rick stared at the slack boy in the plastic chair with a weird feeling swirling in his chest. Without questioning the impulse, Rick shed the blanket and leaned over. He grimaced at the awful aching in his gut and draped the cheap material across Morty’s thin form. 

Morty, with a slight moan, gripped at the scratchy blanket and clutched it to himself.

Rick blinked the moment away and pushed himself up until he was sitting against the headboard. Everything hurts like a fucking bitch, like wolves were gnawing at his guts.

He could really use a drink right about now. 

The doors slid open and in came Dr. whatever-Flopnuts-said. “Hi there, Mr. Sanchez, I’m Dr. Cuynuz.” _ Sounds stupid, just like I thought it would _. “Good thing you have a good grandson,” he said, swiping through what must be a report on a digital pad that he held in his hand. “You’d be dead if it weren’t for him.”

Rick ground his jaw and tried not to cast a look at his hell-ish looking grandson. “As I’ve been told.” 

Dr. Cuynuz sent him a weird look with all of his four eyes. Besides that little oddity, Dr. Cuynuz looked almost human. He looked jewish, Rick noted to himself. “Did you fill out the form, Dr. Flopnut’s gave you?” 

“SuuUURre did, Doc,” Rick said without care. 

The doctor picked it up and Rick watched as incredulity settled over his face. “Rick I-Fucked-Your-Mom Sanchez, seriously?” 

Rick shrugged.

“Are you seven?” 

“No, I-I’m seven and a half, Doc. Read the form.” 

Dr. Cuynuz rolled his eyes and scanned through the other bullshit Rick wrote down. “Everything else looks true,” he trailed, unsure. 

“That’s because i-it is.” Rick couldn't say why he filled out the form in the first place. He likes to think that it's because he had nothing better to do.

Dr. Cuynuz checked off the form and pinned it between his side and armpit. He then continued to list through the paperwork on his pad, listing all that Rick did to himself within the night. 

Rick blew out a breath and let his head fall against the wall with a bang. He tuned it all out until he heard Morty’s name. “Morty said he found you unresponsive in his bedroom, puking all over the place and choking on it. Could you tell us all that you took last night?” 

Rick’s breath stilled in his throat. 

The vision of Morty turning on the lights to find his grandpa sitting in his own puddle of vomit and shit played behind Rick’s eyes. He sent a glare towards the doctor.“Why are you telling me all of this, Cum Nuts?” 

“Because, Mr. Sanchez, you’re suicidal and you need to realize that the things you are doing,” Dr. Cuynuz gestured to a vomit-soaked and tear-crusted Morty passed out in the chair, “have consequences.”

Rick’s gray eyes narrowed into slits. “Are you my therapist, Cum Nuts? Are you m-my mom? No? Then fuck off.” 

“You should really thank your grandson, Mr. Sanchez. He went through hell tonight.” 

Rick doesn’t know why, but the doctor talking about Morty is pissing him off. “Give me my release form and get the fuck out.” 

Dr. Cuynuz threw the digital pad he was holding onto the bed at Rick’s feet. "There's medication waiting for you in the pharmacy in the lobby," he ground out and stormed off, all four of his eyes bright with anger. 

Rick signed himself out and put on his clothes. They fucking reeked.

He looked at Morty like he was mountain Rick had to climb.

For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to wake up Morty and lifted the small boy into his arms. “Je-esus Morty, you stink.” 

Not even a minute into the ride home, Rick couldn’t stand the sight of Morty soaked in his vomit (or of himself sitting in his own because he's far too sober) so he quickly pulled over at a rest stop on a dwarf planet and changed his into a clean pair of clothes, abandoning the soiled set in the already brimming garbage. 

He shoved the clothing down with his foot for good measure, mouth poised in a sneer.

Feeling better, he walked up to the sleeping Morty.

He would have woken up the boy, but Rick knew he won’t be able to go back to sleep and he didn’t want to deal with another lecture so he did it himself. His actions were done with care, eyes modest. Morty didn't even stir.

He took off into the stars once again.

Rick didn’t feel better and he doesn’t think anything that doesn’t come in powder, liquid, or pill form would do the trick.

Rick, sighing, reached into the bag and uncapped whatever medication they prescribed and dry-swallowed two of the pills. The pharmacist told him he could take the entire bottle but he’d never get high and they won’t kill him. The realization only soured Rick’s mood more. 

At least the cramps in his gut died down.

Beth looked like a mess as she sat on the couch, bottle of wine half empty from where it was clutched in her pale hand. She only casted a disappointed look as Rick and Morty stumbled through the door. “Next time, you two clean up your own mess,” she slurred. Rick saw there was something else in her eyes, relief plain as day. 

But Morty didn’t. He saw through his peripheral vision as the boy’s shoulders hunched at his mom’s words. Morty mumbled a small, “okay,” and climbed the stairs. 

The bedroom door closed with a slam.

Rick looked down at his daughter, ready to say something, but he really isn’t in any position to give parental advice. “What happened?” Beth asked, worry in her voice. “Up in Morty’s room, I mean.” 

“Morty took a specimen from my lab and it got out. Don’t worRRy sweeEEty, it’s all under con-control,” Rick lied through his teeth. 

Beth nodded and set down her bottle. “Okay. Night, Dad.” The clock read five o’clock but Rick said it back anyway and made his way into his garage. 

It looked the same as it did before. Haphazard tools strewn everywhere and discarded on the floor, there were shattered remnants of viles and erlenmeyer flasks and alcohol bottles, and the broken portal gun still lying uselessly on the concrete floor. 

Rick fell against the closed door, something building in his chest painfully. He slid down it until his ass touched the cold floor and for the first time in nearly thirty-something years, since he saw Diane and Beth- it doesn’t matter, Rick cried. 

Rick broke down and passed out with the tears still fresh on his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for sticking through :)  
leave a kudo if you survived and are ready for more pain 
> 
> \- eive


	3. when your tongue's a weapon you have to get used to making people bleed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self-Harm trigger

_the shit a person will do_

_just to get the hell out of their own head_

_ \- youre your own demise_

The smoke swirled in the air above him, giving the dark room a stratosphere.

Rick doesn’t feel alive. 

Even with the armada of alien prostitutes that have surrounded him and have been praising him the past two weeks, he still feels like a black hole sucking out the life like a vacuum. Rick doesn’t understand how he hasn’t acquired to feeling like this. It's been blurry years upon years of trying desperately to do away with the feeling. He tried drinking it away, he tried snorting it away, he tried smoking it away. 

He lost himself in his work. 

Buried himself in whores and conquests.

Hell, he even tried _family_, _love._ Things Rick has always told himself are meaningless distractions.

Nothing’s working and he’s losing it. 

“We’re finished,” Rick called out to the prostitute with his mouth poised around Rick’s dick. He looked up at Rick in confusion and a bit of fright, and popped the softening cock from his mouth. 

Rick stared back with empty, slate gray eyes. The boy said, “did I do something wrong?” For a brief moment, something in the prostitute’s features shifted. Rick saw chubby cheeks and blue eyes. He could smell coconut shampoo. 

A million tiny needles were repeatedly jabbed into his heart. 

Rick wanted to reach out and run his knobby fingers through the curls, wanted to see how warm the skin was. He- he wanted to _ kiss _him, to hold him. “Mo-Morty?” Rick breathed brokenly. 

“What? Who?” The features shifted back. The pale skin of Morty shifted back to the light blue of the celestial Crystite, the eyes slowly dulled to a pale yellow, something resembling the moon.

He has the most beautiful species in the universe in front of him, willing to do anything he asks and all he can think about is-

Vomit pushed itself into Rick’s mouth. “No, it had nothing to do with you. Money’s on the bar.” 

The prostitute sent Rick, who was heavily breathing, one last worried look before pushing himself off the couch and to his feet. He walked around the man. Rick listened to his feet slap the floor, waited as he got dressed and took the money. As soon as the penthouse door clicked shut, Rick leaned forward and buried his fingers into the blue strands of his hair. 

It’s the drugs, he told himself. It has to be. 

He’s having a bad trip. The weird Rick he bought it from _ told him _he might have some weird experiences. 

But if that’s true, then why has this been a recurring thing? Why does it happen every night? He thinks of Morty day in and day out, Rick dreams of the moron, he- he fucking _ fantasizes _ about his grandson. 

With a jolt in his gut, Rick peeled over and emptied what little sat in his stomach. Tears pricked his eyes as his organs did jumping jacks inside him. When it was done, he fell back on the couch and continued to watch the smoke swirl, head pounding. 

Rick’s really sick of feeling. 

He misses the feeling of steering through the infinite galaxies without a thought of Beth or of Summer, without having a hole in his heart because all he can hear is that stupid, autistic laughing when Morty is no where in fucking sight. 

Rick doesn’t _ miss _ people, it’s not his _ thing _. 

But as he lays here, in the quiet room, he felt a void stretch across the expanse of his chest. He sees that idiot in the broad plane of his mind, he sees him laughing as they get ice cream or as Rick wins him something at Blips and Chitz. He can see the way Morty looks at him when he does something remarkable or _ good _, when he acts like a human being and less like a sociopathic retard. 

He’s going crazy, this suffocating feeling, it’s going to drive him ballistic.

Rick laid a shaky hand on his chest, right over where his heart was beating like crazy, where it aches. He wished just like how he modified his body to withstand his day to day, Rick _ yearns _to be able to rip out his heart and replace it with wires and hydraulic valves. He wants it to stop, the pain, the excitement, the suffering, the humanity. 

Rick squeezed at the flesh of his chest, clipped nails digging into the pale skin. 

“Fuck this thing,” he mumbled, finally giving up and letting his hand fall flat against his chest once again. 

He’s brought back to that night. He was in a similar place, overthinking and getting too deep into shit that have once never mattered donkey shit to him. The night Morty found him. 

Rick can’t look at the kid anymore. 

The following morning, when they both made eye contact at the breakfast table, whatever pointless mom shit Beth was talking about drowned into incoherent words and syllables, him and Morty just _ stared _at each other.

It was the look in the kid’s eyes, the dullness and the brokenness, it was too much for Rick to bear. It was too much for him to handle because he did that. The shittiness of Morty’s appearance, the ghost in his gaze, that was all rendered from Rick. 

He royally fucked up his own grandson’s life. 

He’s the reason why Morty can’t sleep at night, he’s the reason why Morty’s aged well past seventeen. Rick’s the reason behind every ounce of Morty’s pain because he can’t learn to just fucking stop. He never knew what not to say, only realizing that his words were venom-dipped arrows as soon as they broke Morty’s layers of skin. 

Rick was always too proud to apologize, always too proud to show anything besides empty shoulder pats and compliment sandwiches that were worse than just saying nothing. 

Rick- he isn’t good for Morty. 

Not just for his asshole-ry, but because every time Morty does something well or when he’s being especially adorable, Rick is overcome by an impulse to do something that is far, _very far_ away from paternal. 

He can’t let it fester, he can’t terrorize Morty to deal with a perverted grandpa on top of an asshole one. Rick _ can’t _. 

So he has to distance himself. He has to push himself very far away because it’s dangerous, this territory he’s edging into. 

Rick pushed himself onto his feet and pulled on his signature pair of brown pants. He walked into the kitchen, trying to ignore the cracking of his knees. 

The kitchen counter was _ bombarded _with tools and gadgets, with blueprints and formulas etched out in chicken scratch among useless scraps of paper. Lying with all the other prototypes and trash, Rick snatched the puncture gun and stared at it in his hands. 

He knew if he hesitated he won’t do it. He’ll think of some bullshit excuse to tell himself as to why he can’t jam it into his neck. 

So, with a sharp intake of breath Rick held the barrel to the underside of his jaw and squeezed the trigger before his mind could catch up with his actions. 

It seared blindingly hot as the chip settled into his epidermis. Rick clutched at the rapidly swelling skin, hissing through his teeth. His knees began to buckle so he grabbed at the counter. “Fuck, fuck, _ fuck _,” Rick screamed into the empty space of the hotel suite. He blinked away the fat tears welling up in his eyes, trying to ignore the feeling of something akin to a hot iron being pressed into the flesh of his neck. “Get a grip, Sanchez,” he said to himself and pushed himself onto his feet. 

Rick’s muscles were jumping under his skin, twitching and screaming with pain, but Rick’s had to endure worse. Squaring his jaw, he took heavy steps into the living room and finished dressing himself. 

_ Goodbye, Morty _.

  
  
Morty hasn’t seen Rick in two weeks. He hasn’t even heard him. 

The thing about Rick is that he made a lot of noise. He’d throw shit around in the garage, he’d knock shit over, he’d talk loud throughout the house. Well, that's how it is when he's drunk, but when isn't he?

But the past two weeks? Nada, nothing, zilch. 

Morty used to fantasize about Rick just leaving him alone, used to get hard on the thought of peace and quiet, of a life without being weighed down by the realization of his life being as meaningless as reality TV. 

He liked to think of a reality that existed where Rick just stayed gone. A reality in which Morty had good grades, a girlfriend, and loving parents. A reality where he doesn’t have to stay up all night because he’s killed aliens he can’t pronounce the name of and people he doesn’t remember the name of, where he doesn’t get sick to his stomach because he watched grandpa porn again and they keep getting more specific to the point where they’re chemistry professors fucking their stupid teen students.

But now that dream is getting more in reach and Morty can’t help the spinning in his head. 

He doesn’t understand why he isn’t happy. 

He _ hates _Rick. He hates what the old man says to him, how he speaks to him, how he makes him feel. He hates every little bit and piece of Rick.

Alas, as Morty lies in his bed, rocking back and forth with his chest growing tighter and tighter because it’s been fourteen days and the last time him and Rick interacted the old man was recovering from a _ suicide attempt _, he misses Rick. Morty misses the old, diabolical fuck to the point he feels like nothing without him here. 

It doesn’t matter that even if he was here Rick would be throwing insults around, calling Morty worthless and stupid, it doesn't matter one bit because it means Rick is talking to him, Rick's _ with him _.

The pain was spreading like wildfire across the expanse of Morty’s body. His breath was coming in and out it stunted puffs, eyes wide as they stared at his bent knees. 

Morty wanted to scream and he wanted to cry. 

He feels worthless when Rick is around him from being treated like a liability but he still feels just as much, if not more, worthless with Rick gone as it makes Morty think he isn’t needed anymore. 

He wants- no, he _ needs _to be needed. 

It was the only thing that kept Morty going. 

The thought of at least being useful to Rick. Even if that meant being _ used _ , it was Morty’s life source. He can’t lose Rick, he can’t, he can’t, he _ can’t _. 

With a feral scream, Morty gripped at his arms and burrowed his nails into the skin. In protest of the abuse, a heat surfaced where Morty dug in his fingernails. He didn’t notice, he just kept burrowing them further and further in. He didn’t stop until his back hit the wall of his bedroom too forcefully, causing his head to hit it as well. 

A surge of pain like lightning shot straight from his head to spread throughout his entire being. At first Morty hissed, but it was like something lit in his brain. 

He doesn’t know what it is and he wouldn’t call it impulse, but he rammed his head into the wall again. Black clouded his vision and a numbness came over his fingertips.

He did it for a third time and it felt like a solution. 

The pain from his head and from his nails digging into his flesh blurred out his thoughts. Rick felt distant, his problems didn’t feel real. All there was is the pain, the nerves lying under his skin screaming. 

He lost himself in it until it put him to sleep.

Morty woke up the feeling of shame lying on his chest like a two tonne boulder. 

There was blood crusted in the underneath of his finger nails the color of rust, his throat was sore from him screaming. There was still a persistent pounding in his head as his vision went in and out. Morty began to panic that he gave himself brain damage, but as quickly as it came over him, the quicker it dissipated. He realized how does it really matter anyway? 

Morty pushed himself into a sitting position, ignoring the cracking of his bones from the effort. 

Afternoon light was streaming through the crack in his curtains. He smelled cold eggs and looking over, there was a plate set down on his nightstand decked with eggs, bacon, and toast.

There was note peeking out from underneath the plate.

  


_ Morty, _

_ I called the school for you and here's breakfast. If you need to talk, im here and you can always call Summer. _

_ ♡ mom _

She must have heard him last night. 

Morty isn't surprised that she didn't barge her way into his room and didn't demand answers. That she just left him to figure it out. 

That's what Morty loves about her most of all. He guesses growing up under Rick you learn that some things you shouldn't meddle in, keep your nose out of. 

Morty placed the note back down and rolled over. He looked at the deep, purple-ish craters made in his flesh with stinging eyes.

He pulled up his blanket up to his chin and pretended they weren't there. He fell back asleep and dreamt of Rick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just a really sad filler chap and so will be the next one so yea sorry about that but it is what it is
> 
> Thanks for reading, i hope y'all have a rick-tacular day !
> 
> Much love,  
Eive
> 
> (Also i was pretty high when i edited this so i aplogize if there are errors i missed and or added)


	4. you are the sun and i'm the insect baking upon the sidewalk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is really short and just filler, I apologize :(

_ when everything is  _ _relative_

_ and nothing really matters or holds any semblance of meaning _

_ how do you even know if youre real? _

_ \- lying to yourself is the only reason why youre still alive _

It's been almost a full month without Rick and Morty likes to tell himself he's completely fine.

Even though his eating patterns aren't even a pattern anymore, just a few crackers in the middle of the night when he wakes up from passing out the moment he gets home from school. It's not like he's  _ anorexic _ , or anything- right? 

He just doesn't have an appetite, that's normal right? 

Deep down, Morty knows that it's not him having a lack of appetite. He gets hungry, hungry to the point that it blurs his vision and causes his head to spin if he stands up too fast. He gets hungry to the point that it hurts his entire body as his stomach tries to break down the empty space. Morty knows that it's far from normal to be angry at the feeling. 

He just- Morty likes the control. 

He likes to be able to decide, to be in charge of his own body. Its fucked up, he's aware of it, but being in control of how to treat and what he does to himself is his only solace. 

He can't control his parents divorcing or his mom's obvious favoritism shown towards Summer who's states away. He can't control Rick leaving and doing what he pleases, he can't stop the sick feelings towards his own grandfather, and he can't do anything about the only person in this whole universe he loves trying to kill himself. 

Morty isn't in control of anything besides himself. 

That's why he's dropped ten pounds the past week, that's why he smashed his dad's old razor against the tile of the bathroom until the piece of steel clattered to the floor in a beacon of light. 

That's why Morty traded the soft skin for rough scar tissue on his upper thighs. 

That's why Morty's starving himself. 

He's doing this to himself because he's scared Rick's dead somewhere in a pile of alien drugs and whores. 

Morty stared into the dark space of the private room in the nurse's office, head heavy and vision colorless. "Hey, Morty," the nurse said sweetly as she cracked open the door. 

Morty hummed.

"How's your head, still spinning?" Morty nodded, grimacing at the pounding in his head that came from the action. 

"Okay, I called mom to tell her you’ve fainted. She's sending dad to pick you up."

Morty's chest seized up.  _ God dammit.  _ "Okay," he croaked. The door clicked shut and for the first time in a while, cold tears welled in Morty's eyes and ran down his cheeks. 

  
  
  
  


"Morty, you look like a ghost," was the first thing his dad said as Morty slid in the passenger seat. 

Morty shrugged and looked out the window. He could feel the other man's eyes drilling into the side of his head, but eventually he relented and the car began to roll forward.

Morty let his head fall against the cold glass of the window and watched the first snow of the year fall silently. He always loved winter even if it was kind of pointless to prefer a season as Morty rarely spends any time on Earth as it is- well,  _ was _ .

Regardless, he loves being able to bundle up. When him and Summer were younger and before children were plagued with phones, they would always be outside. She'd humor him with snowball fights and building snowmen. Thinking back on how close they were, Morty’s realizing how he kind of took his sister for granted.

Anyhow, that was before Rick and while their family resembled at least semi-functionality. 

"So," Jerry sang out and Morty quietly sighed. "Are you going to tell me what's going on or am I not your father anymore?"

If Morty gave a single damn about his dad's feigned sympathy, he would bang his head against the glass until he knocked himself out. "There is-isn't anything to tell you."

"I find that hard to believe, Morty. Like isn’t Rick gone? Shouldn’t you at least look a little bit better? Why can’t you and Beth see that that man is no good for anyone? Look at you Morty, he obviously doesn’t care-"

"Fuck off."

"Excuse me-" 

The car screeched to a halt. Looking forward, Morty could see his house a block ahead. He unbuckled himself. "What do you think you're do-"

Morty, with a huff, pushed the door open. "Stop playing dad and go fuh-fuck yourself." Morty slammed the door and trudged his way through the freshly fallen snow.

  
  


He didn’t worry about his dad driving up next to him and try to coax him into the car. As he heard the tires drive through the snow and the sound of the motor getting more and more faint, there wasn't a smidge of hurt or even surprise at his father's lack of care. 

Morty let the tears burst through. 

They were cold as they rushed down his cheeks. Morty was sobbing uncontrollably, doubling over on the sidewalk. The pain as it spread through his chest and burrowed in his mind as a headache, was unbearable. 

Falling to his knees, Morty slammed his palms against the freezing snow trying with all his might not to scream or wail. He did so until his knees went numb and hot, until it felt like his hands were going to crack open and bleed. 

Morty pushed himself onto his feet and swayed on the spot. He’s never been so damn cold, so damn tired, so damn lost, and looking at his house that looked further away than before, Morty wishes he could just die on the spot. 

  
  
  


It was four a.m. and Morty never realized what a god’s gift Minecraft is. 

It’s a gift because he can lose himself in the mining and the monsters and building. He can forget about Rick, about how there’s blood soaking into his sleeve, about everything. 

School isn’t a thing, life isn’t a thing. All that’s registering to Morty’s mind is what’s in front of him. 

But like everything else that's at least somewhat good in his life, it gets yanked out of his grasp just as he grows accustomed to it.

Morty saw the color of bright green reflect on the wall and on his laptop screen. His breathing stopped, hands stilled. A zombie killed him and he didn’t care, even though he was only a few items away from killing the ender dragon in hardcore mode and beating the game. 

All he saw was the color, all he cared about was the sound of footsteps falling onto his carpet. 

He heard a loud burp and his skin ran cold. “Ri-i-i-ick?” He called out meekly. 

He could feel Rick's gaze on him and Morty felt small, weak. The feeling the pair of eyes gave Morty was always cold and moist as it slithered up his spine, like liquid mercury.

Suddenly, he felt a heavy touch on his shoulder, cold fingers brushing his neck. “YouUU’re coming with me, Morty.” 

Morty turned in his chair and looked up at his wasted grandpa whom was swaying left and right, eyes lidded. He wanted to scream, yell, hit, but he barely even had the energy to think about doing any of those things. “Where, Rick?” 

“It’s a suuUUURprise.” 

Morty pushed himself to his feet with a sigh, knowing that can’t mean anything good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really should be doing my homework, but here i am, letting my suffering and self-induced stress swallow me whole :D


	5. when your life is a nightmare, the ones in your head cease to matter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the delay, I had a tremendous amount of trouble with this chapter. I rewrote it, I revamped the entirety of my outline, this legit had me in tears I was so frustrated. I'm sorry if this isn't good or up to par with past chapters well-  
without further ado ig

_you bang your fists upon the ground_

_scream to the heavens_

_and alas_

_its all fruitless_

\- _what is the use of fighting_

when it's not going to accomplish

anything? 

Morty is more than tired of always welcoming Rick back into his life without even a shred of a fight. 

He's ashamed of himself. 

Morty keeps sending panicked looks at Rick. The older man was beyond wasted by now as he's taking swigs from a bottle every few minutes. Morty's on the verge of freaking out, not because of Rick being so drunk he can't sit up straight, but because Rick looks pissed off. 

His hands were tight around the wheel and his jaw clenched so harshly Morty wouldn't be surprised if the enamel of his teeth began to crack.

Rick's eyes were dark and stormy as they bore ahead.

"Ri-ick, just tell me where we're going," Morty pleaded for the hundredth time. 

Rick's hands tightened even more, the leather screeching in protest. "Places."

Morty blinked at his grandpa owlishly. It'd be different if the man was amused or if he was just being an asshole, but there was something wrong. Rick was… off. Something's off and Morty would kill to figure it out. "O-Okay, Rick," he squeaked and looked out the dome of the ship. 

When they steered onto an uninhabited dwarf planet of some sort, Morty's bones went cold. It's like the equivalent of making a drug deal at a 24/7 corner store in the middle of the night.

Rick hopped out of the ship and sent Morty an impatient look. "Are you get-tIIUUing out or are you just go to sit on your pret- skinny ass the whole time, Morty?"

With a sigh, Morty climbed out the ship and stood by his grandfather, whom was still swaying pathetically on the spot. "So, Rick-"

Before Morty could finish, Rick swirled on his heel and stumbled his way towards the back of the ship. When he returned, there was a silver briefcase held tightly in his hand. It wasn't a business meeting at an office sort of brief case, it was a business meeting in which the case is full of drugs and bills to be exchanged at a sleazy hotel.

And the latter is exactly what’s going on in this moment.

Morty swallowed. 

It's a deal, that's what Rick dragged him along to. Before Morty could get a grip on himself, he ground out, "I-I-I thought you don't duh-do these anymore." 

"Morty," Rick growled carefully. Morty should be scared like usual whenever Rick took that tone, but he's tired and his arm is hurting from where the cotton of his sleeve is rubbing against the fresh wounds. He just wants his bed. Rick continued, albiet in a softer tone that went unnoticed by Morty, "shut th-the fuck up, alright?" 

There was a warning in Rick's words, but Morty's pissed and doesn't care. "Ser-seriously, Rick? What the fuck?" 

"Morty-"

"I-I can't _ believe _ you- wah-wait, no, actually I can. You disa-appear for a month and come back sh-shitfaced expecting me to just be- to be _ fine _ with yoh-"

"Might want to get a grip on your Morty, C-137." Morty's entire being froze at the voice. It sounded like Rick, but there was something a little off in the tone. The other's voice sounded cold and metallic, like a knife. 

Rick let out a heavy sigh and sent Morty a dirty look. Now, now Morty can say he's scared.

Turning around, Morty seen why and wondered how it took him so long to realize. Another Rick stood there looking almost identical to Morty's own if it wasn't for the burn scars that covered the expanse of his entire body.

"Trying," Rick grunted. "Let's head inside, shall we?" His voice was so indifferent he sounded robotic. 

Morty felt like a ghost as he followed the other two men into the decrepit motel sitting about a dozen yards away.

They were making banter about things Morty knew better than to try and listen into. They were probably just talking about him anyway, about how horrible of a Morty he is. 

The motel didn't look any less shitty inside. It smelled of rot and mothballs. Morty couldn't leave from the threshold of the door without gagging. "Ri-ick, could I just-"

"Yeah, Morty, stay there. That's- that's why I brought you, dumbass," his Rick said boredly. "Stand guard." 

Morty blinked dumbly, mouth poised to say something. Rick made a twirl motion with his knobbly finger and Morty turned around with a sigh.

Rick D-096 made Rick's gut churn just by looking at him. Sometimes, when he _ really _thinks about it, Rick feels bad for the D-Dimensions. Always deformed and fucked up looking. 

"Are yoUUOOu just going to stare at me?" D-096 grumbled through a burp. “Or are we going to get this shit show on the roOOad?”

Until he remembers that they're all fucking asshats.

Rolling his eyes, Rick slammed the briefcase onto the table of the abandoned motel room. He heard something scamper in the corner. "Open it," D-096 ordered.

Rick was a fraction, a fucking _ fraction _ away from grabbing the handle of the briefcase and hitting him upside the head until his stupid skull cracked open. 

_ Probably would make him easier to look at _, Rick mused to himself.

Ignoring the small feeling enveloping him, Rick pressed his thumb against the scan pad and flipped the case open. He watched D-096's eyes widen as his body flooded with endorphins. He whistled and reached out to snatch the gun, but Rick snapped it shut with a sneer. "Payment first."

D-096 looked murderous as he threw the large, one gallon baggy onto the table in a dull thump. Rick opened the case once again and stuffed the large baggy into his pocket. “Have a nice night, aAAsshole.” 

His hand was positioned around the knob when he heard the shots ring out and when something cold pressed against the back of his head. 

_ Stupid, stupid, stupid. You’re fucking stupid, Rick _.

He should have known this was going to happen. It would be a living dream if he only had the Galactic Federation so far up his ass, getting hard on the thought of doing away with Rick Sanchez Earth Dimension C-137. 

His own, _ himselves _, would do anything to splatter his blood.

"You bastard," Rick gritted out. 

He could practically hear the smirk in D-096's voice. "I-I always thought C's were sup-posed to be all that, the Rickest of the Ri-icks. You’re talked about like a God among us, someone to bow down to or detest out of jealousy. Buh-but here you are, under the point of my- oh_ , fuUUUCK _!"

Rick smirked, savoring the taste of outsmarting himself, but being twisted at the waist like this hurts like a fucker, so regrettably, Rick pulled the trigger before it could really settle in. 

Rick D-096 fell in a heap behind him, blood spanning out in a thick puddle. 

He was about to walk out before the blood could soak into his shoes when a feeling slithered down his spine hotly. The motel was purely silent, so quiet that Rick could hear the vacuum of space if he concentrated.

They're waiting for him outside the door. 

But so is Morty and there isn’t a chance that these rogue Rick’s even hesitated before hurting him or killing him.

Rick rubbed his temples, frustrated. He just wanted to make a quick buck, that’s fucking _ it _. 

“I knew we should have just left him at home,” Rick breathed to himself and wrapped his hand around the door knob once again. “You’re the Rick, Rick.” He threw the door open and was welcomed with bullets and electro-beams every color under the many suns of the universe all aimed at his head.

Rick’s rolled away from the fire, but as if there weren’t a dozen of himself all intent on killing him, his gaze landed on Morty thrown into the corner of the “lobby” in a mess of limbs.

He could hear the other Rick’s run at him. He should be trying to kill them, should be scared, should be something besides whatever it is coursing his system as he stared at his unconcious grandson. It was fiery as it ran through his veins, obliterating every other emotion that once swam through his system. 

As his gaze snapped towards the armada of himself, Rick knew it could be nothing but pure and unadulterated anger. 

Rick’s _ livid _.

Rick’s _ bloodthirsty _. 

The metal and the titanium of the gun Rick embedded in his robotic left arm folded itself with a screech before it returned to the hollow compartment in his forearm.

It’s only been a few minutes but he was surrounded by the smell of flesh and blood. Rick dusted at his lab coat but it was beyond ruined. He ran a shaky hand through the blue of his hair. He could go for a good fucking nap right abou-

“_Morty_!” Rick yelled out. He wasn’t no longer in the corner where he was thrown like a bag of garbage before. Rick was circling around and trying to find the body of his grandson, but there were so many corpses and guts and blood, it was like a _ Where’s Waldo _ page. Rick rifled through them all like a madman. His shoes were sloshing and slipping around in the puddles of crimson, his hands were covered in his own guts but he couldn’t care. He carelessly shoved and threw the bodies around as if they were nothing more than butchered pigs. 

He surveyed the lobby left and right, front and backwards, flipped the fucking joint upside down, but all he could find was a scrap of yellow fabric. 

His hands were buried in his hair, tearing at the strands. The world was spinning and Rick felt like he was losing his mind. 

_ Morty’s dead. He’s dead, dead, dead and it’s all my fucking fault. I did this, I killed him because I can’t just stop- _

“R-i-i-i-” 

Rick ran. He slipped and scraped his knee and pushed himself back to his feet. All he saw was the peachy skin of Morty’s hand limply held above the sea of gray bodies of which he’s drowning in. Rick dug him out and picked up Morty’s broken and trembling body. As they walked out, Rick couldn’t look at him. He could hear Morty’s painful moans as his muscles locked up, as his skin poured cold sweat. “Ri-ick, th-they inject-injected me wi-with some-something,” he sputtered between labored breaths. 

“Don’t talk, Morty,” was all Rick could say and Morty went limp in his arms. 

Rick was shaking as he whipped up the antidote. 

And he was still shaking long after he delivered it to his grandson. His long fingers were trembling around the flask as he took swig after swig. It probably wasn’t a good idea to get shitfaced drunk but fuck, Morty is groaning in pain from where he’s lying in the uncomfortable bed of the citadel motel and Rick thinks the sound is tearing him apart. 

It always does. He hears it more times then he should, no parent or grandparent should be accustomed to the sound of their offspring moaning and writhing in pain, but Rick hates the feeling that envelopes and constricts his heart at the sound. He doesn’t want it to bother him. 

So, instead of facing his emotions, Rick drinks them away until they’re drowned in an ocean of various types of booze.

However, he’s finding that this past solution isn’t no longer effective. 

“Ri-i-i-” 

Rick sprung up from the chair and practically ran across the motel room to Morty’s bedside. “Yeah?” 

Morty was still pale, but some of the pink in his cheeks was resurfacing little by little. His eyes were squinted as they looked upon Rick. “Hu-urts, Rick,” the boy choked out. 

Rick wanted to just kneel down and grasp Morty’s hand, tell him it will be okay. But something squeezed at his guts. Rick felt himself melt, his face fell and his breathing slowed. He fell back into the chair behind him and took a swig from the flask. “YeeAAH, an antidote is fighting the- the poison those assholes injected in you. It prob- isn’t going to feel good, MooRRty.” 

The sigh that slipped from between Morty’s chapped lips was weak and wispy.

Rick ran a hand through his hair with a breath and let it travel down to the back of his neck where he scratched the dried blood there. “I can- if it’s _ that _bad, Morty, I can give you some-something…” Rick trailed awkwardly. 

The wide eyed look that Morty snapped towards him at his words, was enough to have his stomach twist into knots. “I- I’ll be fine.” 

“Are you- are you _ sure_? I mean, it’s not like you’ll be a weak bitch for taking it,” Rick mumbled. “If it hurts, it hurts.” 

Morty shrugged and fiddled with his purple-tipped, oxygen deprived fingers. “Ye-yeah, Rick. I’m sure.” 

It was an excruciating, white hot sort of pain. 

Morty’s vision was red tinged as he came to. His body felt like it was convulsing and spasming, even though he knew he was lying completely still. When he finally pried his heavy eyes open, he was welcomed by the sight of Rick slouching in a chair beside his bed. It didn’t look like it belonged there as if Rick dragged it there so he was closer, but the thought was funny to imagine. 

But in all seriousness, Rick looked awful. 

His eyes were empty and thin, like the gaze of a fish as he stared at the floor. The hand in which he held his signature flask was trembling so fiercely that Morty could hear the contents swish around inside. Rick’s clothes were ripped and soaked in blood. There were even smears of the red down the side of his face and on his neck, trailing even to his collarbones and lower.

Morty knew he probably looked a good deal worse, but the sight of Rick doused in the insides of living beings with a smell of meat and rot along with strong stench of whiskey wafting from his spaced out body was enough to have Morty reeling. He called out to Rick before he could stop himself. 

Morty didn’t let himself focus too much on Rick jumping up, on the relief in his eyes. 

He didn’t let himself get lost in the way Rick was trying to let him take his pain away. 

Morty watched as Rick fell back in the chair and took a long gulp of the whiskey. That must have been the last of it for Rick threw the metal container to the side. With a groan, he pushed himself back on his feet. “I’m going to the liquor st-” 

It felt like a single spot on his thigh was lit on fire, searing the flesh and eating away at his skin. Morty seized and howled. The pain he woke up in was nothing, all the pain he’s ever felt in his life was nothing. 

“Morty? Morty what is- you’ve been shot,” Rick said calmly, suddenly sober. He was gripping at Morty’s thrashing leg, holding it in place. Now that the pain was hitting him in full force, Morty could see the rapidly growing stain of red taking over the expanse of the fabric of his jeans. 

Morty fisted at the blanket and bit the collar of his shirt to keep him from screaming. 

It wasn’t until Rick shed his coat that Morty was starting to get scared. He cracked his shoulders. “I have to clean the wound, Morty.” The pain was only white noise in the background of Morty’s mind. Rick gripped the ankle of Morty’s jeans. He started to yank and the vision of torn up skin, of scar tissue and red wounds popped up like a warning sign. Before Morty could think, he was screaming. “_ No, stop! Please, Rick just- _” 

Rick recoiled, eyebrows drawn in confusion. “Morty if it’s about you be-being embarrassed or some shit, I’ve seen you nah-”

“_No _, just-” 

Morty could only wish that it’d be humiliation rendered from being naked.

“The wound has to be cleaned, Morty.” Rick squeezed the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. “Just- I’ll be gentle, okay? I won’t look anywhere, It’ll be quick.” 

Maybe, maybe Rick won’t even see them. Maybe he won’t even care. “Promise?” 

Rick nodded curtly and Morty laid back down limply. 

The older man gripped at the ankles of his jeans once again and tugged them off of Morty’s legs. 

This time however, Rick didn’t ask for Morty’s consent for the pain killers. He held four blue pills in his hand, holding them out in front of Morty’s face. “Take these,” Rick demanded in a dull tone. 

Defiant, Morty shook his head. “N- I’m good, Rick. Thanks.” 

Rick’s face hardened into stone. “Take them or I’ll force them down your throat.” The tone, the deadness to Rick’s words scared the living shit out of Morty, but he isn’t stupid. Morty knew these weren't your regular run-of-the-mill pain killers. These were something made from isotope-four-whatever infused whatever crystals from where ever, because that’s how Rick rolls. 

Morty- if there’s one thing he has always told himself was that he wanted to be different then his family. He didn’t want to get mixed up in booze and drugs, he didn’t want to live through his life in blurs and nothings. 

But, did he really have a choice right now?

With a shaking hand, Morty plucked the pills one by one from Rick’s palm. He had trouble dry-swallowing them, but got them down regardless. Rick looked impatient as always. 

After a few minutes, Morty didn’t feel all that different. His limbs felt heavy and his brain was a little clouded, but besides that, he felt relatively normal. 

“Morty, did you feel that?” 

Snapped from his thoughts, Morty tore his eyes away from where he was staring at the wall to look at Rick, but he had trouble focusing on the old man’s face. He also had no idea what the fuck he was talking about. “Hmm?” 

Rick blew out a long winded sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, I-I think we’re good to go. How about you just lay down and try to go back to sleep, yeah?” 

Blinking slowly, Morty complied without a second thought. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out and dreamt of the times the adventures were fun. 

Rick worked deftly upon Morty’s gunshot wound. It didn’t take more than ten minutes to sterilize it and stitch it up, but Morty being zonked out was half of the reason.

Rick was back into the chair and retrieved a bottle of bourbon he found rolled under the bed. He didn’t care about what has touched the bottle or where it has been, only caring about the rich taste cascading down his throat to sit hotly in his stomach. 

But the longer he’s sitting here, staring at Morty passed out only in a long-sleeved yellow t-shirt (which is a new) and a pair of underwear, the more Rick realizes that the alcohol isn’t taking effect.

Catching the sight of Morty passed out and shivering, Rick grabbed the blanket folded at the foot of the bed. He leaned over to drape it over the boy, but then he stopped, frozen. 

And like being punched square in the face, Rick realized Morty didn't give a single fuck about his decency, but rather on what shedding said decency would uncover. 

Rick, with a shaky breath, squeezed his eyes shut and continued to tuck Morty in. He left the room to sit on the scratchy love seat. Switching on inter-dimensional cable, Rick chugged the rest of the contents in the bottle. 

  
_Fuck_, _Morty, fuck, fuck, _**_fuck_**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes rick almost called morty pretty  
yes i stopped it half way though  
yes im a tease ;)


	6. blood runs thick like cream and you drown in it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED EASILY READ BELOW IF NOT, PROCEED:
> 
> massive self-harm trigger. It's not in description of him committing it, but rick describes how it looks in pretty decent detail. it starts with him kicking in the stall door

_ in a world that means nothing _

_ why do you mean _

_ absolutely everything _

_ to me? _

_ \- you hurt me and i cant live without you _

Morty flicked through the cable, ignoring the sound of something scampering through the kitchen. It had to be nearing five hours since Rick went out to check on their Earth to see if it’s still flooded with the federation in search for them, an escapade that should have only took two at most. 

Morty sighed and wrapped the scratchy blanket around himself. It wasn’t even remotely warm or comfortable so Morty threw it off just as quick as he grabbed it, settling for wrapping his arms around himself. He doesn’t understand why it’s so cold in the apartment him and Rick “moved into” somewhere in the heart of Morty Town. The Citadel was always a perfect temperature, but for some reason, in this room with it’s broken blinds and it’s peeling, smoke stained paint, the cold was burrowing in Morty’s bones. 

Maybe it’s because he hasn’t eaten, not that there is much anyway. Rick is always too drunk or high to really think about feeding himself, never mind actually going out and  _ buying  _ it. Morty let out a shaky sigh and curled up further on himself. 

He just-

Morty wants-

With a relenting breath, Morty gripped at his emergency universal phone that Rick made him. He sped dialed Rick’s own and pressed the receiver end to his ear with a shaky hand. “Please, Rick, for the first time ev-ever, pick up.” 

The dial tone rang out almost mockingly in Morty’s ear, teasing him with the taste of Rick actually caring enough to pick up-

“Morty, I swear if this is about something stupid-” 

“You real- actually picked up?” He blurted in disbelief. 

He heard Rick sigh. There was some talking in the background, and if Morty was concentrating (he was) he heard the sound of another Morty babbling. The jealousy that squeezed his heart was irrational and made him feel sick, made his hands grow clammy. Rick is probably talking to some other Rick who has his Morty with him, but something about it just settled in Morty’s gut sourly. The sound of the voice made him feel as though he’s about to puke. After what felt like forever, Rick ground out, “I’m kind of busy, Morty. If you just called because you- you’re bored or something-” 

“When are you coming home?” Morty’s words were fast and unintelligible, a string of nuances and vowels. He’ll never admit it aloud, won’t even accept it as his neurons passed the notion from one another, but he can’t stand it. He  _ misses  _ Rick, fuck- he longs for him. All thinks about all day as he sits in this stupid ass apartment is of Rick. Rick with his long fingers and his weirdly soft skin, his blue hair and his surprisingly warm hands. 

_ Rick, Rick, Rick, Rick- _

“Soon,” was all Rick said in a blank tone. “Do you  _ need  _ something? Like I said, I’m busy.” 

Morty was fiddling with his cold fingers. His eyes were burning. “N-No, can we go do something tonight? I think I’m losing it being st-stuck here.” All there was on the other end was the sound of voices. There was a stream of low, bass heavy music. The type you’d hear in cheap porn or in cheap movies featuring strip club scenes. Something twisted in Morty’s gut. “Rick, you-you there?” 

“Yeah, Morty, regrettably. We’ll talk about it when I- when I get back. Okay?”

“Okay.” The line clicked and Morty let his hand fall back into his lap, the fancy phone sliding from his sweaty palm to clatter to the stained carpet in the living room. 

Morty wants to be happy that Rick somewhat agreed to finally do something with him rather to just leave him to sit on the couch or lie in his bed all day and everyday. What happened to needing Morty, even if it’s on a surface level? Would Rick rather go into deadly situations blindly, not caring if he gets captured or killed if it meant he doesn't have to suffer through being around him?

Morty lied down on his side. He looked down at his arm, torn up and red, bulbous scarred flesh. Rick’s had to have seen what he’s done to himself by now if he didn’t see the war-zone on his thighs already that night Morty was injected with poison about a week ago. Morty traced a particular deep one, cratering into the soft pinkish skin of his forearm, cold tears welling up in his large eyes. Rick just must not care. 

Morty can’t decide what would be worse. Rick not caring that he’s slowly but surely killing himself or Rick being furious and looking down on him further. He sees Rick laughing at the scars marked all over Morty’s body, at his bulging ribs and his gray skin. He envisions it and it doesn’t surprise him, it feels as though he’s just seeing Rick being himself. 

Morty soon fell asleep with his arms as pillows beneath his head, tears staining and drying on his cheeks, a feeling he’s come accustomed to. 

  
  
  


The hand that shook him awake was large and ice cold. Morty woke up with a start, his weak grip imprisoning the stranger’s hand by the wrist. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the apartment, he saw Rick’s eyes glinting like that of a cat’s and he fell limp back on the couch. “What time is it?” 

“Midnight.” Rick left twelve  _ hours ago _ .

Morty hummed around the cotton in his throat, but it came out more like a whimper. He re-positioned his arms beneath his head. “I’m guess- we’re not going to be doing some-something are we?” 

The sound of Rick’s footsteps as he rounded the couch was loud in Morty’s muffled ears. He sat gently next to Morty’s feet. The clinking of his flask caused Morty’s heart to jump up into his throat. “It’s late, Morty. I’m tired.”

He wanted to ask Rick what he did, ask what the hell took him so long to come back. He wanted to yell and demand answers, to shake the old man and scream in his face. But Morty just let his eyes slide closed. “Okay. Tuh- tomorrow?” 

Rick hummed and it didn’t take long for Morty to be overcome by sleep once again.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It was somewhere between his fourth flask full and fifth line of the crushed up crystals Rick traded for a gun and Morty's life that he felt completely _ wasted _ . 

The toxins were coursing his system sticky sweet, causing a light fog to settle over his mind. His vision was hazy as he watched the TV numbly and there were cotton in his ears, making the sound of Morty's light snores and snorts muffled.

Rick sighed and brought up his legs in a criss cross. Something was itching at his skin relentlessly and a thought was there in the recess of his mind knocking and demanding attention, but in his state, he can’t seem to make sense of it. He can see the blur of skin and red and white, of barely legible words scratched into something soft. 

It wasn’t until he cast his blurry gaze onto a soundless Morty that it all came together, and once again, Rick’s breath caught. He stared at a certain spot where Morty was curled under the blanket, almost with X-Ray vision, he could make out the lines and the scars. He could see his own name etched out in crooked, bloody letters. 

He swallowed around the rock bobbing in his throat and before his lagged brain could catch up with his actions, Rick took a hold of Morty’s left arm that was sprawled on top of the blanket. 

He didn’t have to roll it up to know. 

He wasn’t high enough to disregard the red and brown stains scattered along the fabric of the sleeve. If it wasn’t obvious before, Rick figured out why the kid switched to long-sleeved shirts. He ran a finger up the expanse of the clothed forearm, losing himself in the little bumps of the scarred flesh upon his grandson’s arm. 

Rick felt the burn in his eyes and dropped the limb. He did another line, felt the moment slip away form his psyche. “Fuck,” he grumbled. “I’m hungry.” He pushed himself onto his feet and shook Morty awake. “Morty,” he called out until the boy’s eyes blinked open. 

“Wha- Rick, wha-”

“Adve- ad- ah- Fuck, an  _ adventure _ , Morty,” Rick pushed out, his embarrassment at his stumbled words filling his cheeks in a blush. He adorned his coat, forgetting it smelled of alcohol and strawberry scented lube. “I’m hungry.” 

Morty followed quietly out the building and down the sidewalk towards the Shoneys. Rick’s fucked mind didn’t really give any attention to the younger's stumbling steps or how he still looked deliriously tired after being awake for enough time to  _ wake up _ . If anything, his lagging just annoyed Rick beyond help. “ _ Morty _ ,” he hissed. “Hurry uh-up.” 

Morty’s knees wobbled and buckled as he ran to catch up with the older man, but Rick pretended he didn’t notice, and suddenly he really  _ didn’t _ . “I’m sor-sorry, Rick. I’m just-” Morty paused, eyes going vacant for a moment before snapping up back to Rick’s own foggy gaze. “Tired,” he said with confidence. “Really tired, you- ya’ know.” 

Rick watched him scratch at his back before stuffing his hands into the pocket of his coat and spun on his heel. “C’mon, Morty, I want some motherfuh-fucking pancakes.” 

The giggle Morty emitted as he tried his best to match Rick’s fast pace with shaky legs was enough to squeeze Rick’s heart, but he just kept trying to force the feeling down. 

  
  
  


Rick was shoving the pancakes down his throat as if he hasn’t eaten in days. The food was growing stuck in his throat since he was more focused on swallowing it down than chewing it all the way, but no matter, he just washed it down with gulps of water. 

However, Morty who sat across from him the shiny red booth, was a completely different sight. He was staring at his plate of pancakes as if he was repulsed by the sight. “What’s the matter?” Rick asked around his mouthful of food. “Don’t- You don’t like pancakes any-anymore or something?” 

Morty shrugged, mouth down turned into a frown. The kid looked like he’s about to be sick. He was green. “You don’t look too good, Mor-” Rick started but suddenly Morty bolted, high-tailing it the bathroom. 

Shrugging, Rick went back to his food. 

The high from the crystals was starting to fade. Since they basically eat up any other drug or intoxicant, he wasn’t even drunk as the effects on his system faded into a nice, warm buzz. 

But he can at least still eat, as when he’s sober, his appetite is what a person would call  _ lacking _ .

Not after too long, Rick was staring at his empty, syrup-y plate and Morty still hasn’t returned. Looking at his watch, it’s been twenty minutes. He pushed himself onto his feet with a sigh. Throwing a wad of cash that’ll more than cover the bill onto the table top, Rick went after Morty in the bathroom hoping he didn’t puke his guts out or something. 

“Morty?” Rick whisper-yelled as soon as the door closed behind him. It was late, later than what most people would consider a dinner time, as there wasn’t anyone else in the bathroom. So when he didn’t get a response, not even an indicating sound, Rick began to kick doors open. “If you don’t want to be embarrassed-” kick “Morty-” kick “I suggest you-”

“Ri-i-ick, I’m oh-okay, just don’t op-open the door.” Morty’s voice sounded weak, strained as if it could barely muster the few words. 

Rick stood outside the stall door. He couldn’t smell puke or diarrhea. He couldn’t smell anything besides what a mens’ bathroom would usually smell of. “You don’t sound okay.” 

The silence that rang out was painful, even for Rick. All he could hear was dripping from a leaky faucet and the sound of Morty’s stunted breaths. It was the type of breathing a person makes while being in a great deal of pain, effort, or both. “Just- Rick, I’m  _ fine _ . Just go ba-back outside. I’ll meet you in a bit.” 

“It’s been twenty minutes, Morty.” 

“Rick-”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” 

Morty didn’t have anything to say this time, as if Rick’s question completely wiped the younger boy’s head clean. “I-” 

“Open the stall, Morty.” 

The younger let out a small, “Nuh-uh.” He sounds delirious, out-of-it. 

Grinding his teeth, Rick kicked open the door and had to keep himself from falling to his knees by gripping at the edge of the stall. “ _ Fine _ , huh?” Was all Rick could say through his clenched teeth. His grip on the stall was tightening, the plastic coating of it screaming against the pads’ of his fingers. 

Morty swallowed and backed up closer to the corner, a poor attempt at hiding himself. “Rick,” he whimpered. The arm that lay limply at his side twitched pathetically as Morty tried to lift it. He let it be with an anguished moan. “It’s not as bah-bad as it loo-looks. I pruh-promise.” 

Rick thinks that if the crystals weren’t somewhat still riding through his veins, he’d have puked or gagged. But he finds himself staring at what doesn’t look like an arm anymore blankly. It was in every sense of the word mutilated, maimed. There was no way to describe the sight before him, the way the arm looked with just a mess of bulbous flesh and blood. He could see a vein. Rick finally tore his eyes away from the forearm and looked Morty. He was slouched against the grimy wall, legs outstretched in front of him. All of his muscles were twitching.  _ He’s going to die _ . Without thinking anymore into it and shutting himself off completely, Rick ripped off a considerable amount of toilet paper and knelt down in front of his grandson. He grasped the bloody wrist and began to wrap it. At the touch, Morty was brought back. “Hey, Rick?” He called out in a whisper. 

Rick spared him a quick glance. His thin, white lips were spread into a dopey smile, showing off a tiny tooth gap. His eyes were lidded and like loose marbles in the socket, but they were warm as they looked at Rick. The older man had to quite literally tear his gaze away. “Yes, Morty?” He asked lightly and started to wrap the “bandages” again. 

“I missed you.” 

The words “no you didn’t” sat on Rick’s tongue heavily. He had to bite the tip of it to keep the words from tumbling out. He closed his eyes with a sigh. “Morty, you don’t know what you’re saying. Stop wasting your ener-” 

“But I  _ do _ , Rick.” He was almost done with wrapping the horribly wounded arm. Rick continued to tell himself to keep going and he'll rush them back to the apartment. He’ll put Morty to bed so he can disinfect it. He doesn’t have to think about those three stupid words, about how cute-  ** _FUCK!_ ** “That’s why I called you. I could- I couldn’t stan-stand being in that stupid apartmeh-apartment another minute ah-alone.” 

“Morty,” Rick said before the boy could say more. “Listen to me you autistic little shit. We’ll go out tomorrow.” 

Morty’s eyes were wide and glassy as they stared at Rick while he tied the bandages as tightly as he could to stop the bleeding. “Pruh-promise?” 

The smile that stretched on his lips as he looked at his fucked up grandson was as real is it gets, it kind of made Rick sick. He held out a knobbly finger and winked. “Pinky promise.” Morty’s own pinky was shaking and purple as it wrapped around Rick’s. He took the boy into this arms and hightailed it home at three in the morning, hoping he has enough anesthesia and disinfectant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jsnfijebfeaoajs morty is such a baby why do i treat him as i do :((((


	7. you lick up the sweet treatment like it’s honey, even though you know you’ll choke on it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its not that good, kind of went outside of my comfort zone with this one...  
tell me what yall think of the end ;)  
(theres a good number of formatting errors, so i apologize about that :( )

_people like you_

_shoot those they love and watch them bleed out_

_only to stripe a band-aid over the wound_

_once they feel as though they should do something_

_other than nothing_

_ -stop expecting a fucking thank you_

_ for doing the bare fucking minimum_

Morty sat in the passenger seat fidgeting impatiently. “Where are we going?” He  _ asked _ for the third time. 

“Places,” Rick  _ said  _ for the third time. 

Morty let out a long groan and banged the back of his head against the seat. “R _ i _ ck,” he whined. “C’mon, juh-just tell me.” 

Rick blew out a long breath and ran a hand through his hair. The action flattened the wild strands of his hair back, exposing his forehead. Rick held it there, eyes swimming with a foregein emotion as he stared out into the universe around him. Morty’s breath caught in his throat at the sight. “Look, Morty, it’s nowhere special like you wah-” 

“I don’t want to go anywhere special,” Morty grumbled and averted his eyes out to space. 

“Then why-” 

Morty let out his own breath. “Rick, why does it matter? I told you that I just- just want to go  _ somewhere _ .”  _ Somewhere with you, anywhere with you _ .

Rick fell into silence. Morty was just about to give in and admit defeat when Rick said in a dull tone, “You’ll see when we get there.” Morty screamed.

  
  
  


Morty’s jaw dropped as Rick descended into a parking spot amongst hundreds of other ships and types of intergalactic travelling vehicles that Morty has never seen. He was about to ask where they were when his eyes fell on a brightly illuminated sign, a yellow symbol that everyone is familiar with. “ _ This  _ is a  _ Wal-Mart _ ?” Morty blurted in disbelief. 

Rick hummed and jumped out of the ship. Morty fumbled with his seat belt and jumped out not too long after him. Rick, walking fast with his head down-turned and hands stuffed in his pockets, Morty ran to catch up. When he did, Rick was quick to quip, “Why are you still so short?” 

Morty blinked, thighs burning to match the old man’s stupidly fast pace. “Wha- why are you st-still walking so fast while be-being so old, huh?” Morty fired back despite the stab in his heart. His development is one of his biggest insecurities, one that was targeted above everything else, even his autism. Rick knows how Morty feels about his height and abundance of baby fat. He usually kept the insults regarding those at bay, but the old man has seemed on edge all day. Morty thinks it’s because he hasn’t had a drink or a line yet. 

Alas, even still, at Morty’s remark, a small, more-of-a-smirk than a smile spread along Rick’s gray lips. He sent down a look at Morty, the gray eyes a little brighter, almost blue as they looked at him. “Fair,” was all he chuckled. 

Morty’s heart swelled and he couldn’t wipe the smile off of his face. He couldn’t until they entered through the automatic doors into a building so big and crowded with so many species and versions ranging from different dimensions, it left him breathless. “Welcome to the intergalactic Wal-Mart, which  _ really  _ has everything a- a person or whatever could need or want.” 

“Holy shit.” 

  
  
  


The shopping cart was full of food. Cereals of all kinds, chips, real food, snacks, sweets, anything a human could need. Rick even threw in some alien food that Morty can’t see himself trying. 

They were walking towards the check-out when Morty saw it. He doesn’t really understand what was so special about it, but the moment the color and texture registered with his brain, he didn’t hesitate before speed walking towards the item. Rick followed behind with a groan. “Morty, what is i- No.”

Morty held up the light blue, fluffy blanket that was large enough to swallow him hole with puppy dog eyes. “ _ Please, _ Rick? I hate the blankets back at the apartment.” 

Rick regarded him with a dead gaze. “I just bought you like twelve long-sleeved yellow shirts.” 

Morty’s cheeks heated up and suddenly his arms began to itch. He shook the feeling away. “You can buy yourself a game console and like twenty bottles of szechuan sauce but I can’t have a bla-.” 

Rick relented with a huff and chucked the blanket atop the cart. “Let’s go, moron.” 

  
  
  


Morty was curled up under the blanket, nose pressed into the fluffy fibers and fingers moving in memory as he played against Rick in some sort of war game. Surprisingly, it was going pretty well. Him and Rick were at a tie, five wins to five. Morty doesn’t want to illusion himself into believing he’ll win their childish competition, he isn’t stupid. Plus, Morty doesn’t really  _ care  _ if he wins or loses. His hollowed out stomach, the itchiness of his forearms and upper thighs, the way his body aches, and how heavy the guilt is as it sits upon his conscience, none of it matters. It’s not like how he is when Rick is out galavanting, when he is left to sit and fester in the rot and the acid. All that matters to him right now is the feeling of having Rick sitting next to him, spending time with him, them breathing the same air, them not fighting. He can feel Rick shift beside him, feel his bent knee brush his own through the blanket. Morty can’t remember the last time he’s been this happy. 

  
  


The sight of Rick’s character taking cover behind a blown up wall of a demolished building snapped Morty from his thoughts. He immediately took cover himself behind a road block and didn’t waste time before training in on the avatar with the sight. Rick noticed what was going on on Morty’s side of the split screen a second too late. “ _ Aaahh, fuuck _ , Morty, c’muh-” Morty pressed 'x' and Rick’s screen bloomed red. 

Morty held up his fists triumphantly. “In your  _ face _ ,” Morty sang, dancing close enough to Rick’s face to faintly smell the few beers he drank sit on his breath. 

Rolling his eyes, Rick placed his warm hand on Morty’s face and shoved him back. “What- whatever,” he grumbled. 

“Oh, wha- what is that, Ri-Rick? That’s bad-bad sportsmanship, right th-there.” Rick shrugged and exited the game. Morty felt pride surge his body like cocaine. “What am I going to beat you in next?” 

Rick growled and picked GTA. Morty deflated. “Pussy,” he muttered and crossed his arms. 

“Isn’t it your bedtime?” Rick teased as the loading screen took forever. 

Morty glared at him before settling his head against the pillow of the couch. “I’m juh-just playing. I’ll wah-watch you for a bit.” 

Rick hummed and they carried on like that. 

  
  
  
  
  


Rick lost track of time as he played and drank his beer. He never used to like video games, he always thought them as mindless distractions of your own pitiful life. When he firtst moved in with Beth and the kids, out of sheer boredom he played Jerry and Morty’s stupid, old ass Xbox360. It just so happens, he fell in love with it. He doesn’t have to think; Rick isn’t any longer the smartest man in the universe or a sociopathic monster. He’s just a human getting lost in a screen, just like everyone else, like a normal person. It’s…  _ humbling. _

  
  
  


It was sometime between midnight and one a.m. when Morty suddenly shifted and brought Rick back to. His gaze dropped down to the small male and watched in mortification as he shifted and turned until his head was nestled into the soft upper part of Rick’s thigh. The younger took in a long breath, as if taking in the smell of him. 

Rick had to force his attention back to the game. A couple of cans later, he forgot Morty’s head was even there.

  
  
  


Rick must've passed out at some point after Morty in a state of drunkenness. He woke up to a mild headache and a taste of death in his mouth. His head was heavy, like Rick could barely find the energy to lift it up from where its resting uncomfortably against the armrest of the shitty loveseat. But the more he comes to, the more prevalent the feeling of something even heavier (and blazingly  _ hot _ ) lying atop the upper half of his body came to be.

It took a while for his vision to come into focus. It was blurring in and out just enough for Rick to make out washed out colors. Rubbing at his eyes with his arm, he peaked out from between the limb and his breath stalled in his throat in a choke. 

" _ Fuck, _ " Rick whispered to himself as he took in the sight of an utterly passed out Morty sprawled over his torso. There was only the blue light of the TV illuminating the small boy on top of him, shining in the curls and in the drool salivating in his open mouth to dribble out to pool in the fabric of Rick's sweater. 

Rick couldn't help himself from staring at the way his long lashes fluttered over lightly freckled cheek bones, at the parted lips, at the drool. 

The sight alone was enough to have Rick growing taut, but the kid lying on top of him, hot heavy- it was a situation straight out of Rick's fantasies. Rick feels like he's dreaming. 

_Control, Rick, con-fucking-trol._

Rick threw an arm over his eyes and sank lower into the couch in an effort of trying to make himself more comfortable, but he only dug himself into a deeper hole. The action of sliding down and moving his legs to drape over the side of the couch was enough to cause Morty's body to rub ever so slightly against his own. Rick went sick to his stomach as a light and high moan strung out from his grandson's chest. 

Rick's intake of breath was sharp. He was trying with every fucking fiber to not throw Morty off of his body. It's not that he wants to, he far from wants to. He  _ needs _ to, he needs to distance himself from this as far as he possibly can. 

Rick placed his hands on Morty's sides, just about to lift the small boy from his chest when Morty shifted his hips and Rick's shit for brain hit a manual all systems shut off button. 

From where his sweater raised up from their bodies moving against each other that little bit ago, Rick felt something bulge and press into the pit of his stomach, right into the tightness of his guts. "Shit, shit,  _ shit, _ " he hissed to himself when he recognized the roughness of jean fabric and the cold scratching of a zipper. "Morty, fuck."

As if he heard the words, Morty let out a series of gurgling noises and groans. To Rick's absolute horror, Morty began to nuzzle his face into Rick's chest, moving up and up until it was pressed into the crook of his neck. " _ Rick, _ " he breathed into the skin and began to move his hips.

Morty was dragging himself up and down, rutting against Rick's exposed stomach. The zipper of his jeans was pulling at the trail of hairs there, the metal tangling the strands and pulling at them in a way Rick wished didn't cause everything in his mind to turn to blaze.

He had to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood in order to keep himself quiet and sane in fear of the younger being awake or waking. Although, Rick knew there isn't a possibility of Morty being awake. His body was still impossibly heavy on top of him, his breath still even and full despite the onslaught he's committing on himself.

The realization of his grandson having a wet dream so vivid its causing him to rut against whatever's within his reach, and the star of that dream being Rick himself, it was all it took to push Rick over that line he swore he'd never even consider crossing. 

He threw the rules aside without a shred of care and Rick lost himself. 

Before he knew what he was doing his hips were moving in time with Morty's, causing the young boy’s hips to piston evermore faster against the soft flesh of Rick's stomach. The light groans bubbling from Morty's throat at the friction was right at Rick's ear, traveling like gasoline to the raging fire eating up Rick's groin. The groan he couldn't help from emitting was graveled and low, vibrating his chest. Morty, hearing the sound somewhere deep in his subconscious, squeaked around a choked moan and squeezed against Rick even more. 

His hips were moving fast, blindly humping against Rick shamelessly and without abandon. "Morty, jesus christ," Rick couldn't help but breathe as he watched his grandson from underneath his arm. 

  
  


Bubbles of nonsensical words were leaving his red mouth, eyes squeezed shut. "M' close, please, Grandpa Rick, close." The moaned, high-pitched begging, the obscene way he said "Grandpa Rick" without shame, it was enough to send Rick into full hardness. It hurt so fucking badly, the way his muscles burned, how his throbbing dick was straining against the tight matetial of his pants, leaking hot liquid and screaming. 

It was all Rick could do was ball his hands into fists and grind his teeth as all he can think about his flipping them over, no regards for waking up Morty. All that was running through Rick's head was ramming into the moaning boy. Even when Morty's moans grew louder and his hips began to buck, even when his mouth fucking clamped around Rick's neck to sink his teeth into the skin, Rick held true. His palms might be bleeding from how intense his hands were fisted, but he's almost there. 

Almost the-

Morty unlatched his mouth, letting cold hair to rush to the bite mark in a sting of pain. Rick felt the pair of moist lips press against the shell of his ear. " _ Fuck me. _ "

The growl that rang from Rick's chest wasn't human, not even resembling. Rick didn't pay attention to the squeak Morty admitted or the way his body tensed, sure signs he wasn't any longer sleeping. But the boy was still rutting and Rick was still going insane. 

Before his mind could catch up with his actions, Rick was gripping at the delicate part of Morty's waist and pulling him down. 

The feeling of Morty's erection pressed against Rick's own, it sent both of them into a frenzy. Morty's movements, that were slowing down a bit before, were now crazed as he ground his hips against Rick's. 

Just to grab onto something, anything, he tightened his grip onto Morty's waist, watching through bleary eyes as the boy’s face contorted in a delirious mixture of pleasure and pain, teeth biting into a plump bottom lip. 

Rick kept his hips still, watching in complete fascination as Morty did all the work and doing fucking fantastic at it. 

It wasn't until Morty ground in with a particular pressure and angle that Rick's mind went completely white, a high moan spilling from his chest. Morty kept the pace, the pressure, the angle against Rick almost ruthlessly. He felt powerless beneath him completely at his will, and there was something so fucking desireable and delicious about the concept of Morty being on top it was making him sick with lust.

Rick realized, with a sense of dread of it being over soon, was close. Close enough that he can feel it build in his throat heavily and sit in balls hotly. So, with the sense of completely throwing the towel to the wind because fuck it at this point, Rick wrapped his arms around Morty in a strong grip, pressing his small body flush and helpless against Rick's own. Through the even closer proximity, Rick can feel how Morty's muscles are thrumming and how his heart's beating like that of a race horse, thundering in his rib cage. "Please," Morty cried and Rick didn't hesitate before ramming up against him with skillful hips. 

His eyes were squeezed shut at the aggressive pleasure filling his being, but Rick wanted to see them blown wide and crazed, the innocent blue orbs to stare into Rick's own. "I know you're not sleeping," Rick grunted, hips still brutal against Morty. It was all the younger could do to respond in gurgling noises and moans. "Look at me."

And Morty did. 

But the sight was a different one then Rick has always imagined in his sick fantasies that he’d always wake up drenched in sweat. The sight was something that he could get hooked on. Morty’s eyes were lidded and bleary, completely and utterly fucked out as they looked upon Rick. Morty fisted Rick's sweater and the big eyes fell closed once again. "M' close, close, please, yes," Morty moaned out, not making any sense but enough for Rick to know what to do. 

He tightened his grip and moved faster and harder. "Not- _ fuck _ , not until I say so, Mor-Morty." The seventeen year old nodded and let his head fall against the plain of Rick's chest. His body was convulsing, tears spilling down his cheeks and too pool warmly on Rick's skin. A few more thrusts and Rick felt it like an iron brand was pressing against his abdomen and with one more furiously hard thrust, and placing a large hand against Morty's right ass cheek to ground their hips together harshly, Rick said more gently than he expected, "Now, Morty."

Morty came with a howl as their hips bucked against one another, head arched back and pushing against Rick's solid grip on his back. It wasn't until they both came down, Morty flopping back on top of him like a fish, that Rick realized he came, yelling the boys name. 

Looking down, he saw that the kid passed out once again, tears still wet on his cheeks. Chuckling, Rick grabbed the blanket to spread over their two bodies. 

Waking up isn't going to be fun in a couple of hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just want yall to know  
that im not ashamed, not even in the slightest


	8. and you couldn't cough it up; asphyxiation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am  
Sososososo  
Sorry for the long wait... life has just been really beating my ass and so has this chapter. That shouldn't excuse a month+ hiatus though, so i sincerely apologize :'(

_ The only time you'll ever feel _

_ truly alive _

_ is when you think you're going to die _

_ \- humanity is a curse _

There was something pulling on the trail of hairs on his abdomen. Morty can feel whatever it is crusted all over himself, pulling at his pubic hair and at his skin. Not only that, but he was lying on something abnormally shaped that's a weird mixture of soft and hard. There were jagged edges pressing into his chest. 

He shifted slightly and opened his eyes. It took a minute for them to focus, but once they did, Morty almost pissed himself as the sight in front of him registered with his half awake conscious. 

Morty had to bite his bottom lip to keep the scream from pushing past his lips. Trying to even his breaths and calm himself down, Morty pushed himself off of the old man's chest. He shifted to roll off the couch but Rick's long legs were entangled with his own. When Morty attempted to untangle the limbs, Rick groaned loudly. 

"Fuck, fuck," Morty whispered to himself as he moved in the smallest of movements as to not alert the passed out elder. As soon as his legs were free of the flesh knot, Morty fell off of the couch (from on top of Rick) to the ground, hitting his elbow in the process which elicited a very loud yelp. 

To add the cherry on top, he landed on all of Rick's discarded beer cans.

Rick made a bunch of half-awake gurgling sounds and Morty's instincts kicked in. He gathered up the large blanket awkwardly in his gangly arms and ran. He slammed his bedroom door shut, pretending he didn't hear Rick yell out his name. 

  
  
  


Morty sat on his bed like a statue clutching the soft blanket to the bottom half of his face, breathing in the smells that have already embedded into the fabric. 

_ It smells like cologne and whiskey, it smells like Rick. _

Last night, they-

Last night, he-

Morty buried his entire face into the blue fabric with a whine. It  _ has  _ to have been a dream, there isn't a single possibility in all of the universes and dimensions that Rick would do  _ that  _ with  _ him _ .

Morty can't fathom Rick reciprocating any of this sick bullshit. He knows Rick isn't above underage or incest, the man is as deranged as they come. What's the use of Morty trying to figure out where Rick draws the line when he already knows he doesn't  _ have  _ one? It's more so that Morty can't see Rick feel anything of desire for someone like Morty. 

He isn't a gorgeous, brilliant hive mind like Unity. He isn't shameless and provocative like the barrage of alien prostitutes Rick has kept for company over his years. He isn't chaotic or badass like those who he has met, fell for, and left behind. 

Morty is just  _ Morty _ . He's a sad, useless little boy who Rick only keeps around to save his ass.  _ But I'm not even good for that anymore _ . 

What purpose does he serve when he can't do the one thing he's supposed to do?

Morty couldn't hold back the scream from ripping through his throat. He dug his chipped nails into the rough flesh of his forearms howling into the blanket until he felt a warmth seep in between his fingers.

He kept pushing the blades of the fingernails in, more and more until his mind was screaming for him to stop. The pain isn't like cutting or starving, it hurt beyond belief. The type of pain that blurs the mind.

The thing that differentiates this from self-harm, Morty isn't trying to feel or distract himself, he's punishing himself. He wants this to be agonizing, wants this memory to haunt him in scars on his flesh and his mind.

He deserves it for what he did. For being so desperate for attention and so pathetic to resort to-  _ fuck _ .

Dislodging his fingernails, it felt like a fire was dancing upon the plane of the arm. Hissing, Morty lifted his head from where it was buried in the blanket. Through the blurriness of his teary and spotty vision, Morty could see the color of the light blue of the blanket and where the fabric darkened from his spit and his tears. He realized with the blood drying on his flesh and a pounding in his head that it's the same color of Rick's sweater. 

_ The pathetic little creature you are, Morty. _

Closing his eyes, Morty curled up with the blanket and to his delirious mind, it was Rick he felt. He could feel the rise and fall of the man's chest, smell his cologne and alcohol, feel the warmth radiating from his body. 

Morty fell asleep not too long after that, dreaming that Rick never came back and he didn't even know who the old man was.

He fell asleep wishing he was dead.

  
  
  
  
  


Rick stood in the doorway of Morty's poor excuse of a bedroom. He was staring emptily at the boy as he was curled up with the stupid blanket.

Morty writhed where he laid, eyebrows drawn taught as if he was having a nightmare.  _ Look at what you did.  _ Rick with one last long look at his broken grandson, he closed the bedroom door with a soft click. 

He walked back to the couch feeling hollow. The crinkled sounds of him stepping on the sea of crushed beer cans sounded muffled and far away to his ears. 

All he can focus on is the sleep-drunk memory of Morty with weirdly skilled hips and warm skin. How it felt to have the younger grinding and losing himself on top of him, how completely shameless he became as the moments passed. 

Even if Morty initiated the  _ situation _ , he's a teenager who was caught up in a wet dream. Morty wasn't in control, but Rick was. Rick had the power to walk away, to say no, to do something besides fanning the flames into something beyond control. 

It's his fault. 

He crossed the line and he assaulted his grandson. 

Rick grabbed at his hip flask with a huff. Popping off the tab, he did a mock salute to the sky of The Citadel where it was present outside of the dingy apartment. "To you, Sanchez. To fucking you." He downed it in a single gulp.

  
  
  
  


The Morty set down Rick’s tenth glass of whisky in front of him with a look. Rick watched him through blurry vision as the kid opened and closed his mouth. Finally, he sighed, “Anything else?” Rick shook his head and the Morty carried on to the next intoxicated Rick to cater to. 

He stared emptily at the wall in front of him, taking random sips of the amber colored liquid. It’s hot in his stomach and burning in his veins. Rick’s head is spinning. 

“ _ M' close, please, Grandpa Rick, close.” _

Rick kicked back the last of the whiskey. He set down his warm forehead against the cool material of the bar, trying his best to calm himself down but there’s a fire in his mind of which he can’t put out no matter what he does, it just keeps on burning and burning, eating up everything.

He doesn’t know who he is anymore, the thoughts don’t seem like him, and the only part of himself he’s familiar with anymore is the one with chemicals riding through his system. 

_ “Fuck me.” _

Rick banged his head on the bar. He needs to go “home” before Morty wakes up just in case the kid relapses or some shit, but the longer he sits on the thought, the more he realizes that he’s probably the last person Morty wants to see right now.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


It’s weird how distinct the sound of a rope being stretched and strained is.

It’s scary how it immediately fills a person with a fear. 

Morty moved blindly down the hallway of his house, the sound loud in his ears even though it’s doors down. The floorboards were screeching with each step he took. He can hear the sound of late night cartoons playing on his parents TV in their bedroom, hear his dad's stupid laugh. An indie band was penetrating the door of Summer’s room. 

But there was the sound of a strained rope coming from Rick’s room. 

And with each step closer to it, the more shaky Morty’s legs become. It gets to the point that he can barely walk without them buckling, but he’s outside Rick’s door and the sound is deafening.

His dad is laughing and Summer is probably texting her new boyfriend who is actually good to her while Morty’s scared that Rick-

_ Wait _ -

He shot up in the lumpy bed with a scream. The tears were hot on his cheeks and as his eyes adjusted, he seen the stained walls of his bedroom at the apartment. 

“Juh-just a dream, a dream,” he chanted to himself. Grasping the blanket, Morty held it to his face and counted to ten. “Breathe, calm down. Just a dream.” 

Morty laid back down slowly, face still pressed into the soft blue fibers. His heart hurt in his chest and it felt like his ribs have shrunk a few sizes over the course of the nightmare, squeezing his lungs and not allowing him to breathe. There was a burn in his eyes. 

After lying like that for a few to several minutes, Morty finally bit the bullet and pushed himself to his feet. He ignored the spinning of his head and pushed forward. His steps were unbalanced and drunk-like as he tried his best to navigate the dark apartment to find the bathroom. 

He turned on the warm light of the mirror lights and stared at his reflection. His eyes were sunken in and his hair was greasy and sticking everywhere with the blanket wrapped around himself like it’s the only thing in the world he needed. 

He can hear the grunts and the groans and the words in his head, can hear them as if he wasn’t half asleep during it. He can feel how Rick felt underneath him. How even to his unconscious, the feel of Rick and all that is him caused Morty’s heart to go crazy and his chest to warm. 

Even while sleeping, Morty’s irrevocably, helplessly in love with him. 

He’d give anything for it to be love of a grandparent or a best friend, but it’s not. He wants Rick here, he wants Rick to hold him and kiss him. He wants Rick to  _ love him _ . 

He wants Rick to tell him that everything will be okay. 

Morty blinked at his reflection one last time before turning around to numbly walk back to his bed. He stared into the darkness and waiting for Rick to stumble haphazardly through the door, because even if he’s high or wasted, he’s  _ here _ and he’s  _ okay _ .

  
  
  
  


Morty must have passed out at some point for he was brought back to a shrill beeping noise. He sat up to see a bright red LED flashing from the emergency phone and didn’t hesitate to grab it. 

He opened it to find an alert of a missed call from Rick.    
  


Morty played the voice mail. 

_ “Mo-oh-orty, this is grandpa. I’m- oh, fuUUck, _ ” the sound of the rattling of the ship registered with Morty’s ears and his gut dropped.  _ “Grandpa’s not doing so-so good, Morty. Some-something’s wrong, and you’re probably sleeping oOR hate me but I’m s-”  _ the line clicked with a loud ring. 

Morty stared at the wallpaper of the phone blankly, his mind a white canvas. Another alert was pending on the screen but the letters were blurring together into a puddle of letters like vomit. 

Snapping him from his state, a computer animated voice, the same one as the ship, filtered through the speaker. " _ Alert Yellow, System Kloir D-137, Planet Yoir. Crash approximately nine minutes and thirty-two seconds, thirty-three…"  _

That means-  _ no _ , that isn't possible. Rick has always been a fucking retard when he's drunk, but to lose control so blatantly and stupidly is-

Morty, as if something completely shifted within him, stumbled to his feet and dressed as fast as he could. He tried so damn hard to ignore the rapidness of his heart, but it's making him light-headed. He keeps losing balance trying to fit his leg in the leg of his pants. His limbs are trembling from the anxiety conquering every other component moving swiftly through his veins. 

All Morty can see is Rick steering in a delusion through the galaxies, missing meteors and comets and rocks within a hairsbreadth, taking swigs from his hip flask and his eyes lidded. 

"F-Fuh- _ Fuck! _ " Morty stammered in a breath as he slid his stained, once white shoes onto his feet whilst trying to walk, or  _ hop _ , to the front door of the apartment. 

He didn't bother to tie them. 

He didn't care that his shirt was backwards. 

All Morty could see was the ship crashed into the rock and dirt of some alien planet with Rick's broken body lying in the driver seat, flask still clutched in his hand.

_ "Grandpa's not doing s-so good, Morty…" _

Morty ran down the stairs, skipping two at time. He almost tripped on several occasions, which would have probably resulted in him snapping his own neck. But in this state, with adrenaline and fear pumping through his system, Morty didn't give a damn.

_ "You're probably sleeping oOR hate me…" _

He crashed through the main doors in a crash, heart beating in his ears and lungs taking in pushing out and oxygen much too fast for his brain to absorb much of any if at all. 

Morty's head was spinning as if he just jumped off of a whirling merry-go-round. Looking around at the empty, dark streets of The Citadel, Morty had absolutely no idea what to do or where to go from here. 

The tears came, unwelcomed and cold. He stood in the middle of the road spinning in circles, hands buried in his curls. 

_ What do I do, what do I- _

Suddenly, Morty stopped as a thought came to him. 

_ What would Rick do _ ?

Morty closed his eyes and breathed. The voice coming from his phone speaker and buried in his pocket was still counting, and although she was counting up, it still sounded like a countdown to his ears. 

He opened his eyes and the orbs landed on a ship parked outside a liquor store. Looking in the large front window, he saw the Rick yelling at the teller Morty who just looked at the superior man with a blank face. The Rick didn't look like calming down anytime soon, so Morty didn't waste any more time. 

He ran across the street and jumped into the driver seat of the ship. With a mind screaming a hundred different things, Morty did what he thought was right. He pushed buttons and flipped switches, praying that he wouldn't be stupid for the first time in his li-

The ship rumbled and hiccuped beneath him, sputtering to life. With a surprised gasp of breath, Morty gripped the wheel. Recalling his lessons with Rick (and Jerry) Morty steered up into the sky, the Rick that has ran out into the street only a blue and gray spot on the surface of The Citadel like a giant spit down upon it.

"Hold on, R-ick, please. Eve-en if you don't wan-want to," Morty said to himself like a prayer, holding onto each word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk really know how to feel about this, but I really like how it ended. Hopefully the next chap will be up soon, thank you loves <3


	9. you think you know someone but youve only been seeing through the crack in the mask

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, im back ;)))

  


_ You can't place a halo on a demon's _

_ crown of horns _

_ and expect them to be an angel _

_ \- accept the monster under your bed or live your life in fear _

  


Rick's grip on the wheel was loose. 

  


Rick's grip on himself was non-existent. 

  


His heart was lethargic in his chest as he swerved absentmindedly through the universe, beating at a slow  _ ba, dum, ba, dum _ . He doesn't know where he is, where he's going. He doesn't really know who he is. Rick can feel his reality of himself slip.

  


He's forgotten how to ground himself. 

  


Before he really knew what he was doing, the phone was pressed against his ear. With each ring, something foul twisted inside of him. He can't pinpoint what it is but it made his chest tighten and his throat to close. 

  


Is he- is he scared?

  


The line clicked and Rick felt a chill dampness soak into the back of his sweater as he began to sweat. 

  


_ This might be the night I die.  _ "Mo-oh-orty…"

  


In the middle of the message, and when he saw it, the red and green rock of the planet Yoir, it was too late. The phone slid from his hand and Rick closed his eyes. He took one last swig from his flask then rested his head back against the seat. 

  


The sound of metal crunching and skidding and the beeping of the ship was the last thing Rick heard before it was all a pleasant warm black.

  


_ A crash, so simple, and it's what takes out Rick Sanchez,  _ he thought to himself.  _ Funny _ .

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Morty realized as he’s trying to pull his grandfather from the wreckage of the ship, that he didn’t really think this one through. There was blood everywhere and Rick was dead weight in his arms. He can’t take Rick to the hospital like last time. They can’t even leave the Citadel without getting spotted, much less the fucking intergalatic hospital. Morty’s eyes slid closed, willing his mind to just go blank. “I-It’ll be okay,” he whispered to himself. “Everything will be okay.” 

  


Using the last of his strength, Morty pulled Rick from the muddled ship and lugged him to the stolen one. 

  


Steering into the galaxy, Morty could see the asteroid belt a ways away and sighed, sending a look at Rick lying in the seat, body looking broken. His sweater was soaked in crimson blood stains. 

  


Morty looked back out in front of him and steered his way back to his prison. 

  
  
  


He was rooted in his spot. Morty had resorted to dragging in an unused kitchen chair next to Rick's bed. 

  


Watching him was painful. Hearing the sputtering breaths and the rattling coughs, seeing Rick's body convulse here and there just to fall corpse-like still. 

  


It was all driving Morty insane. 

  


He was scared, he doesn't know what's the right thing to do and he thinks he's watching Rick  _ die _ .

  


But however, as he looks at him, Morty doesn't understand it. He doesn't  _ get  _ why he's scared or why he cares, which is sick, he knows. Who doesn't care when their grandpa is possibly dying, but when has Rick ever been a grandpa? Summer only called him Grandpa because she thought it was funny, or maybe because he treated her better which he only did for his own sake. He played his Mom and Summer like they're flutes, but he played Morty like one too. 

  


With his Mom and Summer, he just played the nice guy. They never seen much first hand or just preferred to be blind to the pure putridness of Rick's true self. With Morty? He was always himself, ugly and truly awful, and Morty let himself be won over by the occasions where Rick would pat him on the head or say something that wasn't an insult. 

  


What room does he have to judge his families blindness towards Rick when he knows exactly what the man is and still tries to fool himself into believing he is something better? 

  


_ Should've listened to Dad, huh? _ Morty though dryly as his head fell onto the edge of Rick's bed.

  


He didn't want to sleep, but he couldn't the past few nights since he's been so hungry, so his eyes began to drop incessantly despite the awkward position he's in. 

  


Before he could really process it, his body was going limp and his face melted into the mattress where he fell asleep. 

  
  
  
  


Morty dreamed of a sunny day, standing in the grass in his green stained jeans, playing a bad game of catch. His dad was yelling for Morty to go long, which the thirteen year old at the time begrudgingly did so, but the ball still fell short a few feet. 

  


Morty didn't bother to lunge for it this time. "God _ dammit _ ," his dad yelled, kicking at the grass like it was the world's fault. 

  


"Dad, ih-it's fine. Do y-you wanna just go pl- play xbox?"

  


He opened his mouth to reply, but where Summer was perched on a chair, tanning, she called out, "play station is better!"

  


Morty bristled. "Y-yuh-you kn-know what, Suh-Summer?"

  


She pulled up her sunglasses and sent him a look. Morty already knew what she was going to say. "Th-that y-uh-you cah-can't tah-talk?"

  


Morty apparently can't think either for words evaded him completely. Frustrated, Morty sent a look between his bewildered dad and his cocky sister, and threw the football down on the ground in before marching in the house. 

  


As he ran up to his room he heard his mom yelling at Summer to apologize, but he slammed his door shut before Summer could say anything. 

  


Waking up to the darkness of the apartment bedroom, Morty realized how simple things were before Rick. He actually had the energy and effort to get hurt over something so trivial as Summer making fun of his speech difficulties. He thinks compared to what he endures with Rick, all other insults feel lackluster. 

  


Morty, sighing, sat up with crack and his breath fell short.

  


He's in a bed, Rick's to be exact. 

  


The problem is however, the lack of Rick. 

  


Morty sprung to his feet and ignored the dizzying in his head. He ran out of the room. 

  


The apartment was silent, so much so that the ticking of the broken clock in the living room was deafening. 

  


He crashed through the bathroom. It was empty but there was still steam in the air from Rick taking a shower, the bubbling of the toilet after it being flushed. 

  


He must have just left. He-

  


Morty didn't think one more thought before sprinting out of the apartment. 

  


Bursting out onto the streets of the citadel with his lungs on fire, Morty twirled in a circle, staring deliriously at all the Ricks and Mortys walking down the sidewalks and bumping past him. 

  


They all look- they all are the same. 

  


Morty felt like he was about to puke. 

  


Rick couldn't have left him again, he can't. Morty can't be alone, he's scared- 

  


A Rick rammed him hard with his arm, causing for Morty to stumble on his feet, falling flat on his ass on the pavement. 

  


Rick's continued to walk past, some sneering and some stepping on him on purpose. One stomped on his hand with a sickening crack, Morty held the marled fingers to his chest with a scream. 

  


He was crying by then. 

  


Why are there so many of them? It's Mortytown, it makes no sense-

  


Then he heard the sirens and the sound of guns, the plasma bolts whizzing the air to be stubbed by bodies. The sounds were growing louder and Morty pushed himself onto his feet and ran inside the apartment before the riot could spread further. 

  
  
  


Inside, Morty sat numbly on the loveseat. He could only stare at the Citadel morning news in front of him with glassy eyes and a rapid heart. 

  


Rick D716-C gross face appeared on the corner of the screen. "Councilman Rick in critical condition, but he is okaAay, you know, not dead and stuff." 

  


"Very cool, Rick D716-C," D716 interjected suddenly. "No one really cares about that, am I right?" He laughed at himself even though it wasn't a joke. "What people really care about is who shot the poor guy." The field reporters little box of view shrunk and shrunk until it was gone. "Sources told us it was the infamous-"

  


"No," Morty whispered, suddenly more in tune to the news broadcast. "Please tell me-"

  


"Rick C-137…." Morty tuned out the rest, gaze falling from the screen to the stained carpet of the floor. In his peripheral vision he could see Rick's old mugshot displayed on the screen, of his scowl and those stupid slate gray eyes. 

  


Morty felt like he was going to be sick. 

  


This means Rick just up and left after waking up from Morty saving him, fucked up the-

  


" _ We just got news, breaking, holy shit _ -" D716-B suddenly shrilled, earning Morty's attention. Something hot coiled in Morty's guts. " _ President shot 69 ti- _ " the Rick broke off in chuckles and Morty turned off the TV. 

  


Rick went to go fuck up the government, leaving Morty here to sit and rot before they'd undoubtedly found him. 

  


The thing is though, as he sits here, with tears cold on his cheeks, that he isn't surprised in the slightest. 

  


He's just surprised Rick didn't do it sooner.

  


Sighing, Morty stared down at his throbbing fingers and fell over on his side. He fell asleep at the snap of a finger, thinking that frequent sleeping is a sign of trauma. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Rick sat in the ship Morty stole off of the pawn in order to come rescue his sorry ass, drinking some random unmarked bottle of whatever he found under the seat. 

  


At this angle, he can see as the Citadel descends into chaos. As fires erupted along the streets and the alleys, as shots sliced through the air and their targets, as those who were once on their breaking point that he now shattered finally realized that their lives are a lie, all thanks to the Rick himself. 

  


Rick did a mock toast and downed the rest of the thick, tasteless liquid. He tossed the bottle behind him and lifted into the stars. 

  
  


Passing by the Hiolas Galaxy (where it's inhabited purely by more-intelligent-then-humans cats), Rick picked up some enhanced, more potent form of catnip. He rolled the ground up plant into a few thickly packed blunts. 

  


By the time he reached Earth, the hub of the ship was dense with smoke, it was all around him and burning his eyes. "ShiIIIp," he called out.

  


She answered with a sweet, "yes, Rick?" 

  


"Activate vents." 

  


The smoke cleared out in a number of seconds and Rick finally saw the useless hunk of rock appear in front of him. "Ugh, fuck," he grumbled as he descended down onto Earth. 

  


The closer he got, the more confused he became. No Feds to be seen, nothing that even resembles or has to do with them. 

  


Just regular old Earth. 

  


Rick neared the house and pushed a button for the garage door. He was surprised to find it still works as it rose. 

  


Parking the ship and hopping out, everything was just how he left it, even down to the garbage he "forgot" to clean up. "Beth," he sighed sadly. "Still whipped even when I kidnap her son."

  


Behind him, the door slammed open.

  


Rick went stiff, waiting for anything, mostly the sounds of shots being fired. 

  


And it certainly wasn't what it actually was, that's for sure. 

  


"Grandpa Rick?" Rick turned around and his eyes landed on his granddaughter. As he took her in, he realized he hasn't seen her in probably two years. He opened his mouth to say something, but she beat him to it, leaving him to stand there with his mouth open. "Where's my little brother?"

  


Dumbly, Rick blinked. "Huh?" 

  


"My brother," she growled. "Where is he? What have you done with him?"

  


"Th-that sounds like you're sa- implying I hurt the- the kid or something, Sum-Sum," Rick quickly bounced back but Summer only glared at him. Rolling his eyes, he swirled on his heel and crouched down to rifle through the drawers below his work bench. 

  


"Those weird insect things were everywhere, you know. The only reason they weren't in here messing up all your shit is because Mom figured out where the disguise button ma-jig was."

  


"That's wonderful, Sum-Sum," Rick dismissed. 

  


_ Where the fuck is it? _

  


His hands enclosed around the cardboard box. He pulled it out and threw it in Mor- the passenger seat of the stolen ship with a clanging sound. 

  


"What- how did- you know what, doesn't matter. Bring my brother back home, Rick." 

  


Sighing, Rick faced the entitled twenty-something year old with a blank look. "Maybe he doesn't want to come home, maybe he wanted to leave. For once I might not be the bad guy here." 

  


Summer gave him the same look back. "I might act stupid all the time,  _ Grandpa Rick _ , but I'm still your granddaughter so don't pull that shit with me. I'm not Dad and I'm not blind like Mom. Bring him  _ back home _ ." 

  


Rick didn't say anything, he just jumped back in the ship and left feeling nothing. 

  


He screwed the cap off whatever he grabbed from the box and blindly brought it to his lips. 

  


_ Mmh, vodka, must have been really drunk when I bought this _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cant believe only one chap left aj3nejd  
Ill be posting a longer A/N i wanted to have its own little segment or whatever before I post the final chapter, so stay tuned for that  
Well thats all i got  
Stay well loves <3


	10. Author's Note

So, Eive here. Talking at you. 

As I write this, it's just a couple days after I posted the sixth chapter. I finished the complete plan for this fic and after I completed the plan for chap. 10, I realized that I very well could just simply do a series. 

_so yeah don't worry about the last chapter because i have MORE hehehehe_

also, on that note, when this certain story is completed I'll be renaming it and naming the series "CODEPENDENCY" so, watch out for that :) i dont plan on starting the second installment immediately following this one, as I need time to plan and think things out and readjust myself so I don't get sick of it. It'll be 3-6 months maybe? I'll think more about it and keep yall updated!

I have no idea what the future for this fanfic entails. Im writing this two chapters before this one will be posted lolol. So, I don't know if it'll blow up or if it'll just decline in hits until its a dead work by the end. But regardless, I want all of those who have been with me since day one or those who have binged this series sitting in the darkness of their bedroom while listening to a sad playlist, I want to express how fucking _grateful_ I am, for all those who gave their time. 

The comments, the kudos, the bookmarks, the hits, whether you loved this or just read it bc you had nothing else, I just want to say that from the deep depths of my heart, _thank you._ This fic has helped me grow tremendously as a person and as a writer. Im so glad past Eive took that uncharacteristic leap of faith because as i stated all the way back in the first chapter, this was conjured up and posted on a complete whim simply to test if I had the chops for it. 

But without you guys, I would have given up so long ago. 

Until next time, so long and goodnight,

\- Eive (ee-i've)


	11. life is nothing more than static noise and all there is to do is cancel it out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi  
Youve made it  
Congrats  
But too bad this is far from over ope

_if you live your life_

_allowing for the current to take you wherever_

_dont act surprised_

_when it sends you plummeting down a waterfall_

_your back breaking on a rock below_

_ -live by your own rules or die_

Rick’s been gone for two days and Morty’s going nuts. 

He’s scratched open his arms and the blood has crusted underneath his fingernails. As he calls Rick for the twelfth time, he’s resorted to picking at a scabbed over pimple on his cheek as there was nothing left to his arms, like there was in the first place. 

With each ring of the dial tone Morty felt his mental stability slip inch by an inch until it was hanging on the edge precariously, a soft breath upon it and it’d fall in the abyss. 

It ended with a beep, like all the other eleven calls and Morty threw the phone across the apartment living room with a strangled scream. The device hit the wall with a thunk and fell to the floor with a thud. 

Of course the fucking thing was indestructable. 

Morty settled back on the couch with a long, stuttering breath, staring blankly at where his phone laid unscathed on the carpet. 

Rick’s either dead or gone for good.

Morty’s weighed the options, he mulled over all the possible scenarios, a hundred times over. Rick would disappear without a word and he’d always be back within a day or he’d say something. 

He’s gone. 

He left, and Morty would bet everything he had that Rick won’t shred a single thought on him. 

  
  
  
  


The edge of the brown tinted glass of one of Rick’s shattered liquor bottles was blunt. Still, as Morty held it up to the skin of his thigh, it stung as it pressed into the flesh. 

Tightening the awkward hold on the shard, Morty sucked in breath and drug it across the plan of the small thigh. Morty didn’t cry out, only a small whimper evaded him as the tears welled in his eyes thickly. The blood gushed out violently, splattering across the cream white of his skin to splotch on the couch, staining the light green color a dirty forest green. 

As Morty shifted his wrist and stroke another slash upon the quivering muscle, he noted he wasn’t shaking. He found it fascinating that he’s always shaking, always riddled with anxiety as he buzzes around, but when he cuts, he’s completely still. His heart is beating slowly in his chest and his mind is blank. All he sees is the blood, all he cares about is the sharp object held tightly in his fist. 

But always in the middle of the bliss of absolute numbness, there comes a shift or a crack and he’s there. 

Rick. 

Morty’s fist around the shard tightened dangerously, causing the sides to cut into the calloused skin of his palm. Blood beaded between his fingers and coated the shard. 

Not realizing how deep the glass has rooted into this skin, Morty ripped through the flesh with a growl. He watched as the blood clotted in the deep wound and welled to overflow the cut and trail down his thigh and his calf, to make a tiny pool by his foot. “Shit,” Morty hissed, smearing the crimson in a vain hope there really isn’t too much. 

His heart was going fast in his chest as the blood kept flowing and flowing, welling and welling. Morty watched it, finally a tremor settling in his hands.

His heads bobbing side to side, vision coming in and out. 

Is this what death feels like, delirium? 

He’s dying to visions of blue hair and lab coats, of guttural moans and deft hands that are always warm, of whispered words Morty could never catch. Morty relaxed back, eyes looking down on the war zone upon his thighs with fogged eyes, and he chuckled. He chuckled because he always knew that even as he’s dying that fucker would still be plaguing his every thought, down to his last one. 

Morty leaned his head back. He let his eyelids win the battle of fighting to close with a content sigh. The shard of glass fell from his loose fist to clang to the floors 

His breathing was fast but he felt like he was lulling to sleep, his body slowing down and relaxing. His mind was black, empty, blissful. 

He thinks, finally, that he should have done this sooner. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Rick threw the bundle of cash on the nightstand at some sleazy motel in the Andromeda galaxy. The prostitute sent a look between the money and Rick. “That’s too much,” they squeaked, antennas glowing a nice yellow that washed the room in a nice ambient glow. 

Rick hummed as he shrugged on his lab coat. He grasped the portal gun and blasted hole in the wall. The swirling green dominated the yellow, the nice feeling that was once washed over him by the Symbia wilted away. “You’re worth more,” he grunted and stumbled through the portal. 

The apartment was dark and the sound of the static from the TV was harsh to Rick’s ears. “Damn, Morty,” he grunted as he stumbled into the kitchen, narrowly missing the corner of the table. “I told you to change the station once the news is ove-” 

_ Aw, shit _. His face is probably all over the Citadel by now. Rick ran a large hand down his face and cracked open the cabinet and fetched out a box of wafers. He stuck a handful in his mouth and shoved them back inside the cabinet.

Turning around, Rick stared at the back of Morty’s head. “WhaAAt? Nothing to say? No long rant about how I’m a lunatic or sel-selfish? ReEEally?” 

Morty kept going with his silent treatment. Maybe it’s because he’s a little high, but Rick’s started to get really fucking annoyed. He stumbled up behind the moron and flicked him in the back of the head and-

And nothing. 

“Morty, what i-” Rounding the couch, Rick dropped his flask. He blinked down at the sight in front of him and stepped closer. His shoe crunched on something and lifting it up, he saw a shard of glass, coated in blood clots. 

The wafers started to come back up his throat. 

Rick would think Morty was dead if it wasn’t for the hiccuping of his chest from the pathetic, small breaths his lungs labored. Rick moved numbly to the bathroom and crouched down to grasp a kit. 

Walking back to Morty, Rick concluded it looked like a murder scene. Blood was everywhere, staining the couch and the carpet, coating Morty’s body like a funeral linen. 

With a sigh, he crouched down and grasped Morty’s cold leg. He bent out the limb and rested the heel of his foot against the coffee table. He snatched some wrap from the kit and began his wrapping. The whole ordeal shouldn’t have occurred too long ago as the blood hasn’t dried anywhere but Morty’s hands from where they lied twitching on either side of the boy. Rick swallowed the vomit bubbling in his throat and focused on his wrapping. 

He was trying his best to make sure it was tight, but he’s so high that his hands keep fumbling. “Damn-” 

“_ Wha-h _ ,” a little gurgle vocalised from Morty’s throat. Rick’s gaze snapped up to his grandson as he froze. Morty’s eyes looked like that of a dead fish as he peered down at him, the cornflower blue of them clouded and gray. His lips pulled apart with a dry crack, “ _ Where were you? _”

Rick’s heart was a frenzy in his chest, beating fast enough it’s driving him to be sick. “Morty, I was…” His voice fell flat as Morty continued to stare down at him. 

“Don’t l-lie.” 

Rick looked up at him for a few beats before averting his attention back to the more important task at hand. “MoOOrty, if you don’t shu-shut up, you’re gonna die.” Morty’s thigh twitches under Rick’s hand. “So let me finiIIsh this up, and then you can interrogate me all you wa-want.” 

Morty relaxed as much as he could in his state and his fish eyes slid closed. Then he twitched again and Rick cursed. “Y-yuh-you’re, you’re fault.” 

Rick squeezed his eyes shut and willed his hands to keep up the motion of wrapping. 

_ Don’t think about it, don’t think about it. _“I know,” Rick said, a deep rattle from the depth of his throat. 

Morty sighed and completely laxed, chest rising up and down peacefully. Rick looked up and saw he fell asleep. Stretching, Rick fetched the dropped flask and took a swig. 

_ You’re fault _. 

When the thigh was completely wrapped, Rick got back up onto his feet with a sickening crack in his knee. He lifted the small boy into his arms and dumped him off in his own bed, remembering the annoying shit complaining how his is more comfortable. 

When Morty was thoroughly comfortable and tucked in, holding onto the dumb blanket like it’s a lifeline, Rick returned to the living room to fall on the unstained side of the couch. He flipped on the nightly news and did a mock toast. 

“Fuck this goddamn place,” he grumbled as the Rick displayed on the screen rambled on and on about him, acting like they’re surprised the Rickest Rick is a complete madman, like he’d go this far. He’s destroyed more complex systems of governments, fuck he’s destroyed _ worlds _. 

_ Insects have to know their place _, Rick thought lastly, the springs of his bed screaming in the background as Morty squirmed around. 

  
  
  
  


Morty woke up in a haze. 

He pulled on a discarded sweatshirt thrown in the corner, it smelled of sweat and rust. Tugging the hood over his head, Morty waddled out of the dark bedroom. The light hit him glaringly, causing a migraine to rattle his skull. He held a hand to his head with a groan and pushed on. 

_ Water _, he just needs water. 

Morty stumbled into the kitchen and flicked on the faucet with a fumbling hand. Angling his head, he slurped up the cold lifeline greedily, practically inhaling it. 

Lungs screaming for air, Morty finally stepped back. It wasn’t until then that he felt the awful burn and scratch of his thigh. Looking down, he saw the bandage wrapped tightly about his thigh, the fabric stained a deep red. 

He knows he passed out, there isn’t-

Morty’s blood ran cold in his veins. “No, he didn’t-” stumbling back, Morty ran into something solid, something breathing. He would have melted into a pathetic puddle if he could. 

A hand grasped his bicep, the grip vicious. “Oh,” the deep voice purred in Morty’s ear, “he did.” 

Morty's breath caught in his throat and he began to tremble. "I- I-"

Rick's grip tightened to a bruising pressure and suddenly Morty was being yanked along like a fish on a hook to be thrown on the couch. The blood staining the couch was crusty and scratched the back of his thighs. He watched Rick pace in front him, drunkenly stumbling across the carpet, taking swigs from his flask every ten seconds. "Rick-"

"Morty, shut up," Rick hissed. 

And the tears came, making riverbeds into his cheeks. Rick's incessant pacing skidded to a stop to send the crying almost-adult a tired look. "Stop crying," he talked monotonously down to Morty. "Are you a toddler?"

Rage fired in his veins. The way he is, it's all thanks to Rick. That man's aura, his abuse, his _ genes _ . "No," Morty hiccuped. "I'm fucking _ autistic _ , Rick." The old man's angry expression dropped into a blank stare, but his thin lips were drawn into a frown. Morty rose shakily to his feet and stared up at the man. "I'm _ abused, _ I'm _ broken _ , and I'm _ nothing. _" 

Rick's gray eyes slid closed as he exhaled a sigh through his nose. Morty found himself folding his hands into fists despite the soreness in his palms from breaking the skin open the night before. "Morty, you're-"

"_ What _ , I'm _ what _ , Rick?" He hissed. "I'm overreacting, being crazy, a child?" Rick kept looking at him with that blank stare and it was igniting the dead brush of Morty's mind. Screaming, he shoved the frail man so he fell against the TV behind him. Rick didn't move, just laid against the broken fragments of it, eyes wide and mouth agape. He dropped the flask, the weirdly colored contents spilling onto the floor in a puddle. " _ Say _ something! Your comments and your insults tear me to pieces but fucking _ God _, anything is better than- than this." Morty's voice broke at the end, but it was because the tears were streaming down his cheeks. They leaked into his mouth, salty on his tongue. 

Rick rose with difficulty, back cracking. There was rage in his eyes. "What the fuck do you want me to say? Huh, Morty? Do you want me to call you worthless and stupid, do you like it when I treat you like yuh-you're stupid, piece of shit father?" 

Morty's chest hurt, everything hurt. He doesn't know why he's screaming, he doesn't understand what's going on. He feels like his brain is splitting. Morty doesn't know who he is anymore. Eyes trained on the blood stain in the carpet, Morty spoke in a small voice, "what happened to us, Rick?"

Rick groaned and judge from the squeaking sounds, he threw himself in the recliner. He must have grabbed the dropped flask for Morty heard him gulping. "Yo-you sound like we were in a relaAAtionship or- or something."

Morty looked up at the man. "W-we went everywhere together, even if it was for protection and nothing more. Th-then just out of nowhere, I wasn't even good enough for that. What di-did I do, I don't understand, Ri-Rick?"

Rick's gaze was that of a corpse, empty and untelling. There was nothing in his expression that said what the hell was going through the sociopath's head, but his hold on the flask was deadly, the inhumane strength of his modified body denting the metal. Morty gulped and Rick spoke, "get out of here." 

"H- what?"

Rick's face pinched and Morty's instincts were screaming for him to run.

The old man chucked the portal gun and it landed by Morty's feet. "Go home, Morty." 

Morty clutched the portal gun with shaky hands, inputting the coordinates with shaky fingers. He aimed it at the floor, finger around the trigger. He sent one last look at the broken man in the armchair. 

There was wetness on Rick's cheeks and his small frame was trembling. "Ri-"

"Go, Morty. Now before I do something we'll regret." 

And Morty jumped through, landing on the hard ground of the garage, ankles cracking beneath his weight. 

He looks dizzyingly around the garage, taking in the sight of the gadgets and the tools and all things Rick. It looked like a different reality then the one he's been living in the past several months. 

Morty lowered himself on the floor, holding his head in his hands. The events of his life flashed behind his eyes like a horror film; visions of blood and tears and drugs, the images an array of gray and black. 

Even as Summer came running, sobbing and throwing herself at him, he didn't move. The words she was saying sounded alien to his ears, her hands on his shoulders weighed a tonne but at the same time it felt like they weren't there at all. 

He felt like he was floating in a void or drowning in an abyss, feeling nothing. Summer was yelling 'Morty' but it didn't feel like his name. 

Finally, after Summer's forehead was against his, her tears splattering the wrapping of his thigh, Morty looked at her. "He broke me, Summer." 

"I kn-know, Morty. I know."

  
  
  
  
  


Rick was sober as he entered Morty's room. The first thing he noted as he took in the dark surroundings was that it looks the same as it did when he was thirteen. 

The kid was knocked out, light snores buzzing from his chest, but still Rick took out the syringe to insert in his arm. It was just a serum to ensure he stays out for at least six hours. 

Rick sat in Morty's computer chair, giving it a few minutes for the serum to run it's course. In the meantime, Rick gave the room a better lookover. 

It was a typical teenage boy room at the surface level: clothes everywhere, cut out porno mag pages plastered on the walls, the smell of unwashed blankets, all of that. But looking at the "book"shelves, Rick really took in the objects sitting upon them, coated in a good layer of dust. 

They're all momentos from the alien planets he dragged the poor kid along to, gadgets snatched from the garage or what he gave Morty in a drunken stupor. 

But there was one thing in particular sitting on the shelf, especially coated in dust. A robot made of titanium metal and various things Morty must have gathered from alien planets without Rick noticing, but what has he noticed? 

There was neat, blue first place ribbon stuck to the arm of it along with plaque displayed stating he's the winner of his tenth grade science fair. "Oh, Morty," Rick breathed, looking back at the peaceful boy knotted up with too many blankets. "You stupid idiot." 

Rick got up and whipped out the shit he needed from his bottomless lab pocket. Sliding the chair closer, Rick undone the bandages. 

Threading the needles quite easily, he concluded that working upon Morty's wounds is a little easier sober. 

Rick was so intent on sewing up the deep gash on Morty's thigh he didn't notice Morty's bedroom door opening until he tied and bit off the remaining thread. Looking over, he saw Summer standing in the threshold of the door completely still. He completely turned towards her with a sigh. "LaAAy in me, Sum-Sum. Morty's completely out." 

"I-" she began but her voice cracked. Clearing her throat, she spoke again in a flat voice. "There's nothing to say."

Rick rolled his eyes. He swirled towards Morty's bedside table to grasp the unopened water bottle. He wet down the edge of his sleeve and moved over to wipe off the remaining dried blood cracked all over Morty's skin. "You _ always _have something to say, Gemini." 

Summer scoffed and sat at the foot of the bed. "Since when did you believe in astrology, _ Aquarius _?"

Rick shrugged. "When I found out you were a Gemini." Summer rolled her eyes and they sat in silence for a while as Rick continued to clean the kid up. "Y'know, I don't actually…"

"Yes, Grandpa Rick. I know you think astrology is stupid and dumb and makes absolutely zero sense." 

Humming, Rick pushed himself back up to his feet. He packed up all the supplies and tossed the bag into Summer's lap. "You know how to use that right?" 

Summer stared at him dumbfounded. "I- you're not staying?" 

Rick couldn't stop himself from sending a look towards Morty. "No. That wouldn't be very smart of me, now would it?" 

Summer sighed. "Guess not." Giving a small pause, she continued, "Mom's lost it, you know." 

Rick grabbed the portal gun discarded on the desk and fired a portal into the wall. "About time."

"Will- will I ever lose it?" 

Rick shrugged. "Morty already has, maybe you'll prove to be the strongest in this fucked up tree, Sum-Sum." He patted her shoulder and stepped through. 

He felt the heat of guns and sights and tension all laid down upon him as soon as his feet firmly planted on the floor. 

Rick rose his arms in surrender.

He felt like a bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rick's an Aquarius sun, Ares moon, Scorpio rising or vice versa and nothing will change my mind ✋
> 
> Anyway
> 
> I hope to see yall in the next part in a few months ;)


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